But Home Is A Problem
by mimirshead
Summary: Laharl's mother dies in a car crash two years after she divorced his father, and he's forced to move back in. Of course the reason for the divorce is still hanging around, and she's making his life a living hell. Rated T for sexual themes, and swearing. Rated M for actual sex, and violence. Further warnings for each chapter in author's notes.
1. Desk Jokey

She remembered vaguely that the boss had a kid. They'd met once, maybe twice like a year ago or something. Back when the big guy had been married. She'd dubbed him "Prince" because his dad was the "King" (a nickname that had actual merit). He wasn't much like he'd been then though. He'd dyed his hair blue, and pieced his nose, which was cute, but really kind of nineties, and out of date.

Like the leather jacket he'd done up with studs, and band patches. She pondered over what the fuck the Vaccines were as she stared at him over her mound of paper work, popping her gum. He seemed to have a habit of twitching whenever she licked her lips which was new. But he had to be like twelve now, or something so changes were expected right?

"So you're coming back to live with your dad, or something?" she asked. He shot her a sneer, and looked stubbornly back at the door. "Hey, don't ignore me, I pretty much run this shit," she said.

"Yeah. You're a genuine workaholic." Sarcasm. Cute. The irony of that thought was not lost on her. "Do most of it on you desk," he paused a moment, leaning around her stack of papers to conspicuously look up, and down her legs. "On your back?"

She took the time to be shocked as the office door opened so his father could call him in.

"Dude, you're like twelve," she said as his combat boots slammed into the carpet.

"Fifteen," He shot over his shoulder through the closing crack between door, and frame.

Close enough.


	2. Eating Pomegranates Peel First

AN: This is written 3rd person limited, and Laharl has some pretty harsh opinions about the people around him.

Laharl remembered the fight perfectly. He'd been sitting at the tiny crack in the door, watching as his mother screamed down the hall.

"She's barely even out of diapers!"

"I don't see why that's what you're mad about," His father had said. Ever cool, and collected.

"Maybe I'm stuck on that little fact because she's only six years older than your damn son!"

The divorce had been filed shortly after that.

What he hadn't known though was what on earth prompted his father to endanger his marriage that way. Now it made a lot more sense. A lot more sense.

She was in the habit of wearing tiny pencil skirts, and lacing her heals up on the coffee table, so that she was bent over. Maybe she was board flat in the front, but that really didn't say anything about her backside. And her mouth was a thing of beauty. Which was a problem.

It was a problem because he knew what had been there- or at least some of what had been there- and there was familial history between those parts, and his own.

Of course that didn't really stop him from having an erection, did it? Nothing much did these days. Also, there was the added excitement of the fantasy of giving his father a taste of his own medicine.

He shifted, trying to be conscientious about hiding everything. Of course it occurred to him that as a professional gold digger, Etna probably knew when a guy had wood, and didn't want her to notice it. The way wolves smelled fear, he imagined. Odd places to put points on your character sheet, but still important to certain professions.

He could hear his father in the hallway behind them, probably looking on disapprovingly as his son checked out his girlfriend's ass in a none too inconspicuous way. After all it wasn't as if any fantasies about medicine would ever come to fruition. So let there be foreshadowing to the future dearth of sex he would be having with his daddy's long term affair. Etna wasn't that stupid after all.

"Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

"Nope," he said, not bothering to look over the back of the couch as Etna started tying her second shoe.

"First day starts ten minutes ago."

"Not going."

Etna threw a wink at him over her shoulder, and he really wished she wouldn't do that because that was actual leading on, and not imagined teenaged fantasies. Leading on lead to hopes. Hopes, and his dick telling his pants they were made of hellfire.

"I'm driving you if you don't go on your own, and don't think I won't find out if you ditch."

"Fuckit fine," he said, shrugging up off the couch. He left the cartoons on. No one really cared about Jonny Bravo anymore. Well he did when asses weren't being shaken in his face, but he didn't have the luck to have a normal future step mom, did he?

"I don't like the way he looks at you." He heard his father say as he watched from the crack in his door.

"I think it's cute." He watched Etna as she put her earrings on in the foyer. And that parallel was just really fucked up.

It was an added insult that it was a Catholic school. The perfect little institution. He stood outside the gate, and contemplated calling his father to tell the man the damn bus had taken him to the wrong school, but Realized he didn't want to hear the man's unfortunate voice over the phone.

* * *

She was waiting for him in the office, and he could have cursed his luck out loud when she popped up out of her seat.

"Are you Laharl?"

"Yeah."

"If you could just sign in," she said gesturing to a sheet with slots for names, and times on a clipboard. "And here's your name tag. And," she paused for a moment, looking at his clothing. "We'll get you your uniform right away, okay?"

"Um," he started, but she interjected, holding her hand out enthusiastically.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I forgot. I'm Flonne, the class president. I'll be showing you around school."

"Cool?" he tried, staring at the offered appendage. She looked a bit awkward when he didn't shake her hand. It ended up dropped to her side, and wiped against the blue-gray of her skirt pleats.

"And could you take your nose ring out?" she asked gently, gesturing to it.

"Um,"

"Thanks," she said without waiting for him to actually do it. "The nuns can get a bit touchy about body modifications. This way to the quad!" she sang, leading him out the door.

It was surreal. Like meeting an internet bot in real life, and not even one like Cleverbot. She didn't grow or adjust as he input information, she just sort of stuttered to a stop if her managed to get her off script, brows furrowing gently, fingers tightening on her clipboard as she attempted to process his questions.

Apparently no one else wanted to know the yard duties' schedules, or how often teachers used student bathrooms, which he found odd because it was probably the most common question asked at his old school.

"Hey you know when they do bathroom sweeps?"

Catholic school was like a trip to Utah. Flonne looked down at her clipboard for a moment, intently studying the woodgrain where there would have been something if there was any reason for her to have it.

"The locker room is right this way. We can get your uniform there," she said. "Would you mind changing now?"

"Yeah?" he tried, but she was already bowling ahead.

"It's just that I can't imagine the nuns being too comfortable with your current attire. And you have the F-word written on your knuckles, so you'll have to wash your hands."

"Doesn't come off," he said, looking at the tattoos sprawled out across his fingers.

"What do you mean."

"I mean it's permanent."

"Like sharpie?"

He gave her an amused huff. "Something like that."

"Well if it's sharpie you'll just have to scrub harder."

"I think it's India Ink actually?"

"Pardon?"

"My friend Mao did it with one of his mom's sewing needles, and some thread. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"With a needle?"

"In hindsight maybe not the best move, but still kick ass."

"You mean that's a tattoo?"

Laharl took a moment to look at her, taking in her wide, innocent eyes, and the blue bow in her hair. "You have never met anyone outside of your social mold, have you?" he asked. She blinked vapidly for a moment before her face fell into a huge smile.

"You're a delinquent, aren't you?"

"Um-"

"That's perfect! Can I use you in a social experiment. I want to get inside the mind of the teenaged vandal!"

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I'm your savior! An anthropologist for the greater good." He took a large step back, and tried looking at her again. His conclusion was that she was a complete basket case.

There they were, standing in the middle of the quad in a Catholic school, and she was trying to pick up on him for research. Of all the dehumanizing gaul a person could have.

"Now we'll get you your uniform!" she declared before he could protest further, grabbing him by the arm, and dragging him toward what he assumed to be the locker rooms. "I'll help you try it on!"

* * *

"How was your day?"

"A Catholic school girl saw me mostly naked."

"Wow! Gettin' to work already?"

"What? It's not like that!"

Etna was sitting in the kitchen with a Nutella sandwich, in her tiny pencil skirt, and her ludicrous pumps. Laharl was trying very hard to keep his focus off her legs.

"Shame. You have some aggression to work out, and loosing your stubborn V-card might actually help with that."

"I'm not a-" he cut himself off before he fell farther into the trap of arguing with her. "Where's my father?"

"The King's out running some errands. Is there something you need?"

"Nothing from you."

"Are you sure?" she asked slowly, uncrossing, and recrossing her legs.

He swallowed, and thought about cold water. "Positive," he said with his mother's voice in the back of his mind telling him that women were people, and nothing was to be expected of them. "Except one thing," he added.

"Oh? What's that?"

"I need you to stop doing that."

"What?"

"That! That thing you do! Just cut it out!"

"Whatever you say prince."

He felt his blood pressure rising as he turned on his heels, and stomped out of the kitchen.

* * *

They didn't have the common courtesy to be quiet. Instead, he lay in bed, awake, three days after his mother's sudden death, and listened to the reason his family had been broken in the first place. Unfortunately, Etna was a dirty talker- something that got him going surprisingly well apparently. Even more unfortunate was that it was a skill she had chosen to use on his father, and every time he heard the man respond it sent a jolt of revulsion through his body so strong, he never wanted to think about sex again.

She called him "King" in the sack too, which was something he'd ever needed to know. He'd never needed to know that she had a thing for doublets either. Or that she liked being spanked. It was all too much information. Information which caused unfortunate annoyances, and the whole situation was just so unfortunate, and so strangely painful that he finally broke, and slammed his headphones over his ears in order to drown out their shenanigans.

He thought for a while about sneaking out of the house, and finding some house party to crash, but eventually fell asleep with Tyler The Creator growling something in his ear.


	3. Suck The Venom Out

Etna apparently lived with them most of the time, which was less than optimal. She was loud, and she was in his face all the time trying to get him to do things- for her- for his father. He hated it, but worst of all, it was endearing.

She was kind of like a cancerous growth that had developed the ability to scream nonsensically in the dead of night, waking you from your sleep, but was also too cute to get rid of. Which all meant he had mixed feelings. Mixed feelings which lead to him stalking her around on the weekends with his trusty sidekick.

Flonne was an annoyance at best, but she had her uses, and those mainly depended her inability to distinguish between being used, and using someone else. She was under the impression that their relationship was symbiotic.

"Are we going to sit across the street from that Coffee Bean all day?" she asked, blowing on her hands through her mittens.

"Just until the S.S. Etna emerges."

"I figured you would be more illegal."

"Stalking is illegal, you jackass."

"I know, it's just…No one ever gets in trouble for stalking."

He gave her an incredulous look, remembering how his uncle Mesuvio had once gotten himself sued for stalking his ex's new boyfriend. "Do you even watch the news?"

"I watch Fox."

"I fear for your immortal soul."

She frowned for a moment, trying to understand what he meant, which was just another one of her tragic personality flaws. Gullible, naive, and with no real imagination. Her parents probably should have been sued for child abuse due to their inability to include critical, and creative thinking in her home education from a young age. He didn't really care much for her problems other than the fact that they made her prone to his manipulation tactics.

"Fox is run by devout Christians, and Catholics. All of whom fear god. I don't see why you would fear for-"

"Shhh" he hissed. "She's coming out."

Etna in the winter was not much different than Etna in the Autumn. Now though, she wore pantyhose, and a peacoat, two things that had made his life much easier until the heating had gotten fixed, and she started lounging around on the couch in only his dad's shirts.

"Why are we doing this again?" Flonne asked as he pulled his hood up to hide the dye job in his hair.

"Because I need to find a legitimate reason- and proof of said legitimate reason- to get her out of my life," he said as he rounded the magazine kiosk they had been hiding behind. His mind was weary over troubling on her, and honestly he was more afraid that his dire need to get rid of her stemmed from an inability to be attracted to his father's squeeze. Of course he would never admit that. Why on earth would he ever want to admit that?

"Shouldn't we let her live her life in peace?"

"She's the whore of babylon. Do you really want that?"

Flonne made a high pitched squeaking noise behind him, and he heard the rustling of her cardigan as she walked a bit faster to catch up with him. "Laharl you shouldn't say things like that about people."

"I doesn't count as bad if it's true. "And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet color, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication" right?"

"The things we learn in bible studies should not be used to slander, and insult people."

"I do what I want," he said as they turned a corner.

Etna was about half a block ahead of them, crossing a driveway when she suddenly disappeared. Laharl stopped dead in his tracks for a moment before sprinting to where she'd been. There was no sign of her. No sign of anything really, other than the delivery door in the side of a building. He walked slowly up the steps, and jiggled the handle.

Locked.

Something hateful, and angry boiled deep in his chest, and he had to physically restrain himself to keep from kicking the door. "Fuck," he hissed under his breath as Flonne came galloping around the corner.

"We lost her. Let's go paint penises on the side of a bridge, or something."

* * *

"How was your sunday?" his father asked when he opened the door, and dropped his backpack in the entry way. Flonne peered in from behind him, the tips of her fingers pushing into his shoulders to keep her from over balancing.

Laharl didn't bother answering, letting Flonne talk into the silence that followed instead. "Your house is so big," she said, prompting the man to look over the back of the couch.

He blinked, and blinked again in a very good impersonation of her. Vapid.

"Who's this?"

"Why on earth would it matter to you?"

"Because I want to know if you have a girlfriend."

"I'm not his girlfriend, I'm his sponsor," Flonne declared from behind him. "My name is Flonne. I'm class president."

"No you're the president of the sheltered, middle class, white kids club," Laharl said. She gave him another calculating look.

"Aren't you rich?" she asked. The first rebuttal he'd ever heard from her that actually had any point other than to tell him "love thy neighbor". Not bad. One point to Flonne. Of course he had about 300 points in this game so she still wasn't even in the running.

"My dad's rich."

"And your mother was getting child support, and alimony."

He took a small step back from her. "Yeah, and? That doesn't put us in the top tax bracket."

"As hilarious as this is, I think I'm going to excuse myself," his father said, getting up from the couch, and rounding into the hallway. "Have fun you two. Don't get too carried away. Thin walls."

"It's not like that!" Laharl yelled after him. "Why's it always gotta be like that?"

* * *

Flonne had been sitting on his bed messing with his hair while he played video games for about twenty minutes when the front door opened, and he heard Etna's heels on the tile in the foyer. The controller found itself knocked on its head, and the man on the screen was left running around in circles as the cops fired shots at him.

"Where have you been?" he asked when he opened the door. She was leaning up against the wall that segued into the hall, taking off her shoes.

"Who's asking?"

"Me."

"Out," she sang softly. She looked a bit pink in the cheeks. Possibly drunk. If she was he'd have to get Flonne out as soon as possible. He couldn't imagine her being able to handle his dad's sex life.

"Out where?"

"You know," she said with a loll of her head. "Places." Her pig tails bounced at the sides of her face. "Why do you wanna know."

"Because you're coming in at ten o'clock, and you didn't have work today."

"Okay, mom. Sheesh. Least you could do is cut me a little slack. I'm not fucking with my curfew too much am I? Now if you'll excuse me," she concluded, picking up her shoes, and tugging one hair tie out of it's place on her head. "I'm gonna go have sex with my boyfriend."

"You can listen if you want," she added. "Maybe have a little fun with the toy you've got there."

He looked behind him to see Flonne looking scandalized. "It's not fucking like that!"

"You're right," Flonne said when the door closed. Her hand made a cross from her forehead to shoulders. "She is the whore of babylon."

* * *

Her skirt was rolled up to her thighs the next day. Which was odd considering she usually wore it full length down to her knees, and was very rigid about everyone emulating that. Laharl adjusted the strap on his backpack, and looked straight ahead at her cleavage. If he'd been of average height he would have had a clear view of it. Lucky he wasn't a boob man or he would have had some actual beef with being criminally short.

"You're trussed up," he said when she sat down across from him at the lunch table. She cleared her throat, and pointed to the side of her own nose in order to indicate that he should remove the piercing in his. He ignored her for the fifth time that week. A nun may have cracked him over the knuckles, but that didn't mean shit in the long run. It was a free country. They couldn't do much more than that.

"I have a meeting today," she said. He took a moment to think on that, eyebrows furrowed. True he wasn't a power on sex, and attraction, but he wasn't retarded either. He knew what she was playing at. The blue garters had given her away.

"With who?"

"The dean. If you must know." She was wearing lipgloss, something she was overly conscientious of as she took a bite of mashed potatoes.

"Are you two fucking?"

She choked on her food, eyes going wide. "It's nothing like that!" she claimed after hitting herself in the chest, and finishing a coughing fit.

"Right."

"He's taken vows of celibacy."

"Doesn't count if it's in your butt."

She looked scandalized, cheeks so pink the color was running out of places to go, and creeping up the bride of her nose. He felt a sick satisfaction in the face of her obvious discomfort.

"Why on earth would you come to that conclusion."

Nailed it. "It's the conclusion every Catholic school girl has ever come to when thinking about boys, or you know men," He stressed men hard, because the dean was probably in his early forties, and it was kind of fucked up for him to be screwing a sixteen-year-old regardless of how hot she was. He didn't want to think about how hot she was.

"I've never heard anything about it."

"Regardless of hearsay you're doin' it," he snapped back. Her mouth screwed up.

"Fine," she said. "I don't have to sit with you at lunch."

"No. You don't."

She made no move to get up, simply bracing on her forearms over her tray. "I have no right to call anyone the whore of babylon."

"You're probably right about that."

"Why are you so mean?" she asked. There were actual tears welling up in her eyes when she looked at him, and he was struck with a moment of dreadful guilt. Guilt was jewish. Guilt had no place in a Catholic school. Guilt would stand out miles against the backdrop that was the sea of shame he currently waded in.

"I'm a fucked up kid from a broken household. What do you expect?"

"Basic human decency."

"I'm not human."

She shook her head, and took another bite of potatoes.

* * *

Etna was wearing tiny shorts, and a sports bra when he walked in. "Sup?" she asked around a mouthful of cereal. He tried not to be too disgusted.

"What are you doing?"

"Having a snack. I took a break."

"Break from what?"

"Beating the shit out of the punching bag."

That's when it hit him that they had a gym, which made sense of her attire.

"Mind if I join?"

"Just don't get a boner or something, K?"

* * *

He'd stopped attending formal lessons in kickboxing, and fencing when his parents got divorced, but that didn't mean he'd stopped training. Short people had to have a know how on how to fight, was the conclusion he'd come to in middle school, glad he'd taken the time to listen to his parents, and channel his pent up aggression into something. That was when he'd broken someone's fingers as they tried to take a swing at him. No one had fucked with him after that day because the new kid was crazy.

Etna seemed to be of the same mind when she landed on the matt for about the fifth time, bouncing on her shoulder.

"You're like twelve," she said angrily, staring up at him.

"I'm fifteen."

"I kind of hate you right now."

"Yeah. I gathered." He offered her his hand, and pulled her up onto her feet.

"How'd you get so good at that anyway?"

"I started training when I was five, because the family counselor said I had rage issues."

"Nice. Good to see not much has changed."

He wanted to tell her that everything had changed, as they squared into position again. He wanted to point out that his mother had been made into paste on the free way about a month, and a half ago, and they were still trying to put her back together for her funeral. He wanted to tell her that she existed, and that his father was a cheating bastard these days. He wanted to tell her that he'd left his friends, and his school, and his regular life to get stuck here in hell listening to transgressions that shouldn't have ever begun in the first place as they were shouted through thin bedroom walls.

He didn't. Instead he took a swing at her face, and was slightly glad she dodged because he didn't need her going into work looking like someone had wailed on her. She didn't dodge the hit to the stomach though, and he caught her head beneath his arm, and kneed her in the bruise that would be developing from that punch.

She made a hard, winded sound, and he let go.

"That took like two seconds," she said, when the air had filled her lungs again.

"Personal best. How long have you been at this?"

"Like a year. I guess I still don't have the stuff."

"You really don't."

"I didn't expect you to be this good."

"I'm short. No one ever sees it coming."

"I will now."

"Do you fence?" he asked. She looked confused, as she rolled into a sitting position, but he was staring at the swords on the far wall. There had been a time he'd won a regional competition in fencing when he was about eleven. He'd been disqualified in the next round however, when he broke his sword over his opponent's helmet, and stabbed him. Bit of a dumb move in retrospect.

"No. That's all your dad. I think the little sword is your mom's."

"It's mine."

"Shit kid, what else can you do?"

"I shanked someone once," he said. Her eyes were about the size of saucers.

"You know, now that I know you a bit better, the punk look really does suit you." He was pretty sure that was an insult.

* * *

Etna became a lot more tolerable after that. From then on it was kind of a source of pride to get into her little, red convertible on days she picked him up from school, and listen to the people he hated envy him. And it was kind of fun to watch SVU with her after school, and not do his homework. He didn't want to admit to thinking it was fun though. He'd never want to admit to that.

Mao called him at about twelve o'clock at night, as they were half way through an episode about a transvestite prostitute murdered in a church that he was pretty sure would horrify Flonne to no end.

"What are you doing right now?" he asked, as Etna paused netflix, and glared at nothing.

"Watching season three of Special Victims Unit with my dad's personal hooker, why?" he laughed lightly as Etna tried to swipe at his face in mock anger.

"We have like a full keg, and we need to sell it like now because I'm pretty sure my neighbors saw it in the backyard." Mao didn't sound anything close to calm. His breath was coming fast, and Laharl was pretty sure he could hear Beryl in the background swearing at something.

He looked at Etna. "Don't you guys have an office party coming up?"

"Yeah," she said.

"You wanna keg of beer?"

"Did they tap it yet?"

"No we didn't tap it. Almaz was being a fucking pansy."

"Not a surprise," Laharl said lazily. "We'll be right over. How much do you want for it."

"15 bucks. I'll sell it to you cheap, okay?"

"Done deal."

* * *

Mao was standing outside his house when they pulled up. His nails were jammed between his teeth, and his glasses were kind of fogged over which made him look as crazy as he was. Laharl jumped out of the car, and pulled him up off the curb.

"The overlord has arrived. Where's the beer."

"In the back, you dumbass."

Laharl could hear Etna snickering as the engine stuttered to a stop, but he ignored it. Beryl was waiting inside, arms crossed, and lip pursed angrily.

"Hey, Harl. Who's she?"

"That's the S.S. Etna."

Beryl had been known in school to be the bipolar wonder, something that was very apparent when she stood up abruptly, and smiled suddenly. She was a hard egg to crack. One moment she was happy go lucky, and the next she was absolutely bloody thirsty. Mao was very clearly insane for ever putting up with her, but in his own words the sex was great. The guy clearly couldn't be blamed.

"Nice to meet you. I hear you're a gold digger," Beryl said, holding out her hand. Laharl caught her by the wrist.

"Look, Rasp, I know you aspire to never actually do any work in your life but that doesn't mean we're here to give you advice on how to be the biggest slacker in the Guinness book." She pouted at him stubbornly. "Now help us make Almaz get the keg into the car."

"Is any of this even legal?" Beryl asked, having another one of her flip flops. Sometimes she wanted to kill men for sport, other times she was the biggest goody two shoes ever. The first was fine. The second was down right Flonne-ish. Which was probably why he hated Flonne so much.

"I just turned twenty one, so we're cool," Etna said.

Mao whistled from the living room. "Six year age difference. Daddy's cutting it close to the wire."

"Part of the reason mom was pissed."

"I'm sorry to hear about your mom," Almaz said. He was sitting on the couch.

"Look dude, I'd like to say I like you, but the only reason we keep you around is because your self esteem is low enough that you do our bidding, so but the damn keg in the car before I cut your fingers off or something," Laharl said. Etna snickered again somewhere behind him as Almaz grumbled.

"You know I do everything around here?"

"Fully aware, College kid," Mao said, "But if you don't want me to use you as a test subject-"

"Fine! Fine! I'll put the keg in the car."

It was odd thinking this was probably the most normal thing that had happened in a long time. Etna seemed to think they were the dorkiest group ever, and honestly he'd never wanted to suffer the embarrassment of having to show her to them, but it was kind of nice. Not that nice had any business being in his vocabulary.

"Here's the fifteen," he said, handing the money over to Mao.

"What's the S.S. stand for?" Mao asked, watching as she casually tortured Almaz by giving him a world class noogy.

"Super Secretary."

"Explain," Mao prompted, and Laharl leaned back against the side of his house.

"Super Secretary: Takes your calls, and your cock," he declared proudly.

"Where do they sell them?"

"The red light district."

Mao laughed as the trunk slammed shut around the keg. "If you don't bang that, there is no hope for man kind, I hope you realize this."

Laharl didn't really know what to think about that. "You're a fucking pervert Mao."


	4. Make It A Threepover

**A/N** Sorry if anyone's reading along. I really don't have a set schedule for updating this so it's all over the place.

* * *

The screaming stopped at roughly eight o'clock. Or maybe it kept going. He didn't know. What he did know was that he walked out the door, and he got in the elevator with his backpack full of clothes, and he didn't really plan on coming back.

It had been a stupid fight really. The bottles of Adderall he'd been keeping under his bed to sell to stupid middle schoolers looking to be cool had gone missing, and turned up in his dad's closet. That's when the shit hit the fan.

"I don't see your fuckin' warrant!" had been one of the things screamed, and the whole time Etna just sat in the crossfire looking stunned that they both had voices on them, and together could probably scream the roof off the pent house.

It was fucking embarrassing was what it was. Laharl was amazed it didn't ever turn physical. That his fists had never found their homes in flesh, and his feet had remained planted on the ground by the entry way. It was a fucking modern miracle. He blamed it on Etna's presence. The idea of her seeing him crack like he did sometimes made his skin crawl. He felt uneasy, as he leaned up against the back wall of the elevator.

Mao was a whole county over. He was unreachable without a car, or proper public transport. Laharl was stranded. He missed the sights, and smells of home, laying in bed, and listening to his mother talk on the phone, or laugh with a friend. He missed being a refuge house for when Mao, and his father had massive blow outs.

He'd never really understood back then, how it felt to be ruled by someone you hated. He hadn't put the words, or the ideas into his head in the right order, but now he had this clear cut window into Mao's life. Mao's twisted nature had been mystery until an hour ago.

He sighed as the elevator dinged a notification, and the doors slid open. The nighttime security guards made funny faces at him as he walked out of the lobby so he flipped them off. It was a move that had a lot ore impact when coupled with with the permanent "u" on his middle finger.

He stopped outside the door though, and took a moment to stare blankly at the sky, because fuck if he knew where he was going. In his back pocket his phone buzzed. A text from Etna.

"Flonne's," was all it said. He glared at the screen.

"I know you imbecile," he typed back as angrily as he could, fingers pounding down on the keys. He'd never admit he was thankful. Never. Not once in his life.

* * *

Flonne lived in a really nice part of town about half a mile from his dad's place. It was a long walk, and his phone told him it was 9:10 when he got there. The last thing he wanted was her parents to see him. It seemed like the worst possible option. So he called her. He stood in her driveway, and called her, staring at her bedroom window.

It was a little less terrible than throwing pebbles he decided, when she picked up the phone.

"Laharl?"

"Look outside."

Her head peeked through the curtains, blonde hair looking like a halo around her head from backlighting. He tried not to think about that. Goodie two shoes was already too angelic as it was.

"Open the window," he said, and she did, confused face peeking out into the cold breeze.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Sleeping over. You got a problem?"

"I um. Someone's already." She ducked back inside for a moment, and he could hear her words softly over the phone as she said. "We may have to postpone this."

"That's alright," a man's voice said softly.

"Sorry."

"I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Sure thing."

"Are you gonna let me in or what?" Laharl asked as he heard a door clicked shut. Flonne sighed. Her arm stuck back out the window, motioning him up. He climbed onto the hood of the family minivan, and swung himself up onto the roof outside her room, looking back just in time to see the dean close the front door behind him.

They shared an uncomfortable look as he adjusted his grip on his satchel, and walked quickly away. Flonne was glaring at him when he slid into her room, wearing only her uniform shirt, and a pair of lacy underwear.

"This just got insanely awkward," he said.

"So why are you here?"

* * *

She was very understanding when everything was out in the air. Her brows creased in this caring way when he talked about home, and how it made him sick to be there sometimes, and there were days looking at his father made him want to hurt something. He felt too raw sitting there on the bench beneath her window, staring at the blue wall of her bedroom.

"I'm sorry. I don't have any problems with my parents really, so I'm afraid I can't properly understand. But sometimes I fight with my sister, and it's awful."

He nodded, and tried his damnedest to keep looking at the wall, and not at her legs. She had really nice legs. They were easier to ignore when she was wearing clothes though. He liked her better in clothes honestly. He liked most people better in clothes.

"You can spend the night, but shouldn't you let your father know where you are?"

"Trust me that is the last thing I want to do," he said, leaning back on her window sill. A small figurine from some Japanese robot cartoon was staring at him from the top of her pink dresser. It made him really uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as the poster of boys surrounded by roses on the slanted part of her ceiling.

"But he might worry," She tired. He huffed, and looked at the Batman statue on her desk. If he listened to Mao ever, he was pretty sure that was a new model. Something was special about it too. It wasn't normal Batman or something.

"He should worry. This is all his fault. Doesn't the Bible say an eye for an eye."

"It also says turn the other cheek." He did to look a poster of a girl with a scythe that had a boy's reflection in it.

"Yeah, yeah, and you're supposed to decide when to use each doctrine for yourself. So I chose, and I want him to suffer in his own guilt. Like a jewish soup."

"Jewish?"

"Yeah. Jewish guilt. Catholic shame. Like how you're ashamed about that thing you've got going with the dean."

She turned a violent red color, and spun her chair so she was facing the other way, playing with a plushy of some guy with black hair, and purple robes.

"Is that a chocobo?" he asked, pointing to the one thing in the room he recognized. Mao was big on final fantasy, and had a couple of chocobo plushes himself. 'They're birds that you ride, Laharl,' he'd said holding up two, one in a mages cloak, the other naked. Laharl didn't know why he kept such utter geeks as friends.

"Yes! Do you play?"

"No. I can't deal with most Japanese RPGs. I liked Skyrim, and Fallout though."

She sighed heavily. "Everyone likes those. You get sick of hearing about them after a while."

"If you say so," he said, thinking about Ulfric's ugg boots, and little blue fairy people. "Where do you want me to sleep?" he asked.

"I figured you'd do that in my bed."

He felt a ripe embarrassment creep up into his throat, and make his face hot. "In your bed?"

"Yeah!"

"If I'm gonna do that you'll need to put some pants on!"

"Oh my!" she exclaimed, as if only just realizing she was half naked. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

He ended up wedged behind her staring at all the posters on her walls with the lights off, trying not to be creeped out by them in the dark. A hard task. It was even harder trying to sleep though. Her hair kept getting in his nose, and bothering him. He finally gave up, and rolled onto his back, arm lolling off the bed.

"You can't sleep can you?" she asked.

"No." He felt heavy, and shitty, and wanted to go home to his old house, and have everything be normal. He wanted his mother to cook him breakfast for dinner, and tell him about her day. It wouldn't happen.

"Do you feel alright?"

"I guess."

She rolled over, the covers making a soft shiffing sound as they moved over her nightgown. "You can talk to me, you know?" she said softly, and it sounded like a nice invitation. He almost wanted to because the idea of unloading all the shit on his chest seemed so nice. He imagined being weightless, and light as a feather, but something vicious in the back of his mind snapped, and broke, and the ideas crawled back into their shells terrified.

He didn't want to think about it. Any of it. He didn't want to accept it, or hold it, or hand it to anyone. He wanted to kill it, and keep it, and starve it so that it suffered for as long as he did.

"Whatever," he said. He felt her frown against his biceps. The miniature twitch in her cheek muscles made him feel something odd, and undecipherable.

"It's your choice," she said. "But sooner or later you'll need to open up to somebody."

He didn't want to though. He'd only ever spoken like that with his mother. He'd only trusted like that with his mother, and she was gone. She'd left him. He didn't think he could trust like that again.

"What's keeping you up?" she asked.

He shifted, pulling on the crotch of his pants to keep his balls from getting squished too badly. "Nightmares mostly," he said.

"Let me hold you until you fall asleep."

"Okay," he said, because he couldn't see what it could hurt. Her arms wrapped around his head, and dragged him down so that she was tangled up with his body. It was comfortable. He wondered if Etna curled around his father like this, and felt an intense spite fill his stomach. He tried to ignore it though. Tried to focus on the fact that this felt like something he'd been missing forever.

* * *

"If you climb back out the window, and knock on the door I'm sure you'll be able to have breakfast with us," Flonne said when he stirred into a confused semi wakefulness, startling him, and making him slam off the bed. She laughed lightly, shifting so that she could peer over the edge at his terrified face.

"Are you alright?"

He'd completely forgotten where he was, and true to his usual state had expected to be alone rather that accosted by huge, blue eyes the moment he woke up. Her smile was really bright in the morning. It kind of hurt to look at.

"Fine."

"I think my mom's making pancakes."

Pancakes actually sounded good. He groaned, rolling up onto his feet, and shrugging out of his pants to change his clothing. Flonne made high pitched noise of discontentment as he stepped out of them.

"I'm wearing boxers. Chill the fuck out," he said with a backwards glance at her. Her face was pink again, eyes hidden behind her hands.

"Still."

"I've seen you in your underwear." He shouldn't have said that. Saying it made him think about it which made him massively uncomfortable as he pulled his shirt off over his head.

"But-"

"It's just underwear. I wear less than this when I work out in the morning."

"Less than underwear?"

"Yeah. You never just roll out of bed, and do push ups?"

"No! And definitely not naked!" she squeaked, hiding under the covers.

"Have you ever seen a naked guy before?" he asked. The lump that was her head shook vigorously from side to side as he shucked his underpants, and reached into his backpack for another pair. "Not even like your dad?"

"No. Why would I see my dad naked?"

"You never walked in on your dad in the shower?"

"I always knock."

He shrugged, and pulled out a t-shirt, and his red jeans. "If you wanna look you can," he said, as he started stepping into his underpants. He heard the covers rustle as she peeked out from underneath.

"Isn't it kind of weird?" she asked when his boxers were seated snuggly on his hips, and he'd started stepping into his pants.

"What?"

"Me looking at your-" she trailed off.

"My dick?"

"Yeah. Your dick. Isn't that a little strange. I mean we're friends, but I don't think friends look at each other's privates."

"Nah. It's normal," he said sliding his jacket up onto his shoulders, and wrapping his scarf around his neck. "I see Mao naked all the time."

"Why?"

"His hate lay is always stealing his pants."

"Hate lay?"

"Forget about it."

"Don't you wear socks?" Flonne asked as he started tugging his shoes onto his feet.

"No. Why would I?"

"Don't your feet stink?"

"I have febreeze at home. I'm set for stinky feet."

She frowned as he zipped up his bag, and slid out the window.

"Aren't you gonna brush your teeth?"

"Your parents don't know I'm here I can't."

"Oh."

* * *

There were a couple of cat calls when they came to school together. They stopped when Laharl threatened to make eyeball-soup out of the next person who said anything, though. Sometimes people didn't need a direct display of force to realize someone else was nuts. These sheltered kids were probably scared off enough by the facial piercing.

He took deliberate measures to not walk too close to her. It would only reenforce the new rumors if they were too friendly. Of course the problem still remained that Flonne had no idea what the fuck personal space was.

The day went by gruelingly, and at the end of it, he sat down on the curb outside, and wondered what the fuck he should do then. He wanted to call Mao, or something, but didn't at the same time, because Mao would just talk about how running away was clearly the beginning of his adventure to save the world, which was good because he was a tad late to that party. Mao had been saying that since they turned fourteen. Apparently his plan had been to stop a giant robot, zombie invasion by thirteen.

Flonne stopped beside him, and leaned over curiously.

"Are you gonna go home now?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Your dad should be pretty worried."

"Yeah," he said, staring at the asphalt between his feet. "I'll uh- I'll call Etna," was the conclusion he came to.

Flonne sat down beside him, and leaned up against his side as he dialed the number.

It rang twice before she picked up with a "Hey big boy! How was last night?"

"It's not like that!" he snapped into the microphone. "How's stuff at home?"

"Are you asking if your dad's worried about you?"

"No!"

"Well he kind of is, so don't think about it too much. You succeeded in your attempts to drive him out of his head. He started talking about how you were probably going to get yourself arrested. I'm assuming, since you're calling from your cell, that you didn't."

"Nah. Then I'd be calling from a much different cell."

"Hah!" She said. "You're so funny."

"I know. It's one of my great qualities."

"Where ya at, bro? You want me to come pick you up?"

He sighed, and Flonne's hand tightened on his arm. "I don't know."

"How about this, prince? I'll come, and get you, and we can go to the movies or something. I hear there's this one where a little girl gets abducted by metal as fuck fairies."

He smiled, and Flonne seemed to perk up a bit. "Sure I guess. I'm at school."

"You went to school without your dad telling you to?"

"I didn't really know what else to do. I would have ditched, but I had no one to ditch with so it would have been boring."

"I feel ya. Give me about ten minutes, okay?"

* * *

She was there in five, opening up the passenger's door, and motioning him in. "Your friend coming too?" she asked when he slid into the passenger's seat.

"You wanna come?" he asked.

"Sure!"

It seemed really simple. The three of them together made an odd, but natural team, Etna, and Laharl cawing laughter at the scary moments, while Flonne covered her eyes with her hands, and claimed to be unable to look, despite never really looking away. He also got a bit of a kick out of the way she laced her arms around his, and hid her face in his shoulder when things got bad. The smile Etna gave him was not appreciated though.

None of Etna was appreciated. He felt almost fenced in when she leaned over to whisper in his ear. Something funny. It was always something funny knowing her wit, but his scarf was riding low, and not providing enough protection from the soft tickles of her words on his neck.

She filled him up on candy when ever he got lippy with her too. They ended up leaving the theater with a bag of popcorn, three drinks, and six things of Junior Mints. Apparently his father had told her the stories of his excursions to movie theaters in his younger years when he somehow always managed to get the things lodged into the fabric of the seat of his pants. She'd latched onto the mortification with a gleeful "He said they were your favorite" and an impish smile.

It was even more mortifying to have a twinge of something pleasurable in his stomach with her around. His mother would have called it a crush, and teased him mercilessly. The way Etna was teasing him now. Flonne didn't let go of his arm until they were out of the theater, and the older woman had a field day with that.

"Dating. Couple. K- I- S- S- I- N- G!" She was like a school girl until they were sliding back into the car. The minute the engine started, she leaned back in her seat with a smile.

"That was nice. We should do that more often."

He stared at her out of the corner of his eye as Flonne whole heartedly agreed to the sentiment. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It was like watching two lives collide. School, and home, and it wasn't right. It was almost as wrong as watching Etna give Almaz a noogie had been.

Somethings shouldn't mix, and yet, she was right. Something about the three of them was right. It sat well on three chairs in a nearly empty shoebox theater months after the box office opening for a horror film about fucking fairies. That sounded weird. Everything about his life sounded weird. Maybe weird was just what he needed. Sometimes two wrongs made a right after all.


	5. Blood On The Altar

A/N: This is a chapter that may as well be dedicated to my massive geekdome for martial arts. Get ready for some footnotes. Also, the matches in this being illegal, don't exactly follow code of conduct.

* * *

Mao had another scheme. Laharl could smell it when he answered the phone, and was greeted by the sound of ragged breath on the other end of the line.

"There's an underground club," Mao said, and Laharl groaned, hand thumping against the wood of the headboard as he smacked the heal of his palm into his temple.

"An underground club?" he asked.

"An underground club, and they run a fighting ring."

"Is this another one of your 'get rich quick' things?" Laharl asked.

"Yeh," he heard jilted over the static of telephone lines.

"Are you for real right now? I can't stoop that low."

"No listen, Laharl. You haven't been in a match for like a year at least-"

"Two."

"Two years. At least. This will do more than make us rich quick, and I heard about your dad steeling your inventory."

"Etna's talking to you?"

"She got Almaz's number. They text."

"They sext!"

"Probably not."

Laharl glared at the ceiling angrily.

"Come on, Laharl. This will be a way to get you back into tourney shape while making you money. Tell me I'm a genius."

"It's not retarded, but it's also pretty dumb."

"That means you're doing it! Almaz, and I will be by in an hour to talk strategy."

"An hour?" Laharl asked, looking at the clock.

"Yeah. We need to set up, and get you into the running. Then we need to start training you again."

"Great."

"I don't appreciate sarcasm, buster."

* * *

Almaz was the punching bag. Not surprising as Mao was all about the sacrifice of others to suit his needs. It's how they were similar. Why they were friends. Almaz of course wasn't very happy about it. Especially when Mao threw Laharl the sword hanging on the wall.

"There's no point on it," Laharl said as he lunged toward the other boy.

"I don't care!"

"It doesn't have an edge, or a way to hurt you."

"That's bullshit! We've all heard your stories!"

Mao laughed as Almaz managed to doge a lunge to the throat. It was calming. The room smelled like sweat, and adrenaline, and Beryl wasn't around to put the edge on things. Laharl took a deep breath, and stepped away from his opponent.

"That's okay. It's cool if you don't want to. We can put the sword back on the wall," he said, turning to do it. Mao made a sound of discontentment, and Laharl spun back, catching Almaz in the side with a kick , and brining him to the matt with the sword held against the meat of the his neck.

"Dude, you're like twice my size, you should at least be able to defend yourself against basic attacks like that."

"Not fair. You said you were walking away."

"Never let your guard down."

"What's this?"

Laharl started, looking up at the door past Mao who was still caught in a fit of maniacal laughter. Etna was standing in the doorway still dressed in her business attire.

"Training," he said, rolling onto his shoulder blades away from Almaz so that he could regain his feet.

"For what?"

"Tournament," Mao cut in casually. Out of all of them he had the best casual front.

"Sounds violent," Etna said. Her arms were crossed, and there was something strange in the set of her eyes. Like she was trying to analyze the motive in Mao's movement. Laharl shifted his shoulders, and walked over to the wall in order to place his sword back in it's proper place.

"When is this tournament?" she asked.

"In about a week," Mao said conversationally.

"A week!? I've been out of the game for two years, and you want me to go up against older fighters with only a week's proper training under my belt?!"

Mao shrugged. Laharl picked his sword back off it's hanger, and hurled it at the other boy's head tip first. Mao dodged resulting in a thunking, tinkling sound as the sword bent, and bounced against the far wall.

"If I knew a good place to dump your ass, I'd have murdered you by now."

Almaz took a hissing breath as he stood up off the matts, and looked at Etna.

"Whatever," Laharl said. He needed the exercise, he needed the release, and if he lost, he needed the beating. It would be a place to put all the annoyance, and pent up aggression he had towards his father. "Let's just fucking do this."

Etna watched as he took on Almaz, and then Mao. She watched as shirts were forgotten, and sweat piled up on skin. He tried to forget that she was watching. He tried to ignore her sitting on the bench in the corner of the room, and focus on landing a hit on Mao's chin. It was fun. It was freeing. Fighting was where he was meant to be.

He was meant to be pinning his best friend to the matt in an arm submission. It was intended, and right.

The ache started in his lower back, and slowly spread out in to his arms, and his thighs until he didn't want to move anymore. Pinned by physical exhaustion, he ended up sitting on the matt with a water bottle, satisfied, and still oddly aware of her watching them.

Mao was laughing again, the heels of his feet impacting the matts gently as he flailed. "Are you sure you've been out of it for two years?" he asked.

Laharl nodded. "I haven't been properly trained for two years."

"And that means like, shit right? Because you never stopped beating the shit out of our classmates."

"I guess you're right."

Etna laughed from the corner. He tried his best not to pay attention to it.

* * *

The whole operation looked like it had been copied out of that bad Jonah Hex film. He puled his scarf tighter around his neck as Mao issued him inside, wondering if he'd have to fight some horrifying snake monster, and then befriend a dog.

Laharl didn't much like dogs.

The floor inside was bare concrete, and he was rushed through into a room used for the fighters to get themselves ready. He only got a scarce look at the rows of seats, and the way the ring was slightly sunken, set in a cage. He'd never been in a cage match before.

Mao shoved him onto the bench as he chatted away with the guy who was seemingly in charge. A fake ID was handed around. Not like this seemed to be a legal setup, but they were holding up pretenses.

"How old are you, kid?" A large man with dark skin asked him.

"Eighteen," Laharl said, fists balling hard at his sides. The man chuckled to himself as he continued to tape his knuckles.

"You are the youngest eighteen-year-old I've seen in a while."

Laharl sneered at him. "Because I'm short right?"

The man shook his head with a smile. "Because you're baby faced."

There was a moment of silence, Mao, and the man in charge having left to go see about something. Bets Laharl supposed. He dropped his bag angrily on the floor, and took a seat on the bench farthest from the other man to start taping his own knuckles, and ankles.

"I bet you think you're so cool. Hanging out with the big boys," the man said.

"Ain't about that."

"And what is it about?"

"Money."

"Isn't it always? We fight for money, and fame, and girls."

"Just money."

Laharl was rewarded with another head shake. "That'll change when you hit puberty." the condescension made his nose scrunch.

"Been there done that. Boners are overrated. Sex is unnecessary. Girls can fuck right off."

"So you like boys?" another man asked. He had a swastika tattooed on his neck, and a shaved head.

"Frankly, I don't give a damn about any of it," Laharl said.

"You sound like a virgin who's still to scared to get his dick wet." Etna had said something along those lines a few weeks ago when she'd brought up his lack of girlfriend for the four thousandth time. Good to know it still pissed him off.

"When does this shit actually start?" he asked, looking angrily at the skin head. "Because I'm sick of listening to your bullshit."

The skinhead held his hands up, palms open. Universal gesture for "chill out dude". Laharl was more than ready to punch the guy's face in.

"You got a half hour," the dark skinned man said. "How long you been doing this kind of stuff?"

"I started training when I was five."

Both of them nodded as if in approval.

"Trophies?"

"Two,"

"Only Two?"

"I kept getting disqualified for 'unnecessary violence'." The skin head looked interested. Laharl tried to ignore it, shucking his scarf, and his jacket.

"Maybe You'll get lucky," The dark skinned man said, "And you'll hang on long enough for Adell to be the one who punches your face in."

Laharl pictured being decked by the British singer. "You're gonna get pitch slapped so hard," the voice in his head said with an australian accent. That would be an interesting acid trip.

* * *

He didn't go out first. He wasn't called in until the third round. There was a surprising amount of noise when his name was shouted out. Boos, and cheers. He could hear Mao leading a chant followed by a number of feminine voices.

"Even the dead will wake up If they hear his name! He's an evil incarnation!"

He stood in the cage in the center of the room, feeling naked in his cut off pants, and boots. His opponent was already there, covered in sweat, and looking pissed. There was a bit of blood on his knuckles, and bruises were rising underneath the guy's skin. Laharl wondered what the other guy must have looked like as he was rushed.

Almost automatically his knee came up, and his foot shot out into the man's knee. "Bigger opponent: aim for the joints," his mind supplied.

The man grunted. Laharl felt almost dirty catching him in the head with another kick. There hadn't been an introduction. All the ceremony had been taken out of the fight. There had been no salute, no call. The ref was absent. It was go until you pass out, and his opponent was already exhausted. Not that he was one to ignore an advantage.

He heard someone gasp in the crowd as he brought the toe of his foot into the guy's liver, and looked up to see Flonne sitting in the audience next to Etna. A punch landed on his jaw that sent him stumbling back, and he felt the adrenaline of being in an actual fight kick in. It wasn't a ring match anymore. It felt strange, knowing that Flonne, and Etna were watching as he lost his shit on some guy.

Mao's voice cawed in the background, egging him on like it was middle school again. The world sped up then, staking him through kicks, and punches, and dodges, and the next thing he knew, he was standing above his unconscious opponent feeling something satisfied, and sated rush into his chest.

Mao was outside the cage collecting piles of money. Almaz was cheering like a five-year-old who'd just seen a Batman cosplay for the first time, and Etna was clapping. Flonne didn't look nearly so scandalized as he'd expected. Actually, she looked invigorated.

He shook his head as someone started announcing the next fighter.

* * *

He was allowed to break after three more fights. Mao slapped him on the back when he sat down on the bench in the locker room. A rambunctious red head was jumping around in the corner, the only person of real notice in the place despite the other fighters sitting about going through their warm ups. None of them were quite as enthusiastic.

"You're doin' great. What did I tell you?"

"You told me we were gonna make money."

"Yeah, and I've already made about two hundred off you," he said waving a fist full of bills in Laharl's face.

"You mean we?" Laharl asked, taking a sip of water.

"You know I mean we," Mao shot back in a companionly tone. Laharl huffed air out of his nose in a mock laugh, and watched the man in the corner kick at the air.

"You want me to go back out there?" Laharl asked as the red head dropped to do a set of push ups.

"Fuck no. I want you to win this thing!"

"Head in the game," the man muttered to himself. "Head in the game."

Laharl took another sip of water. "How did Etna, and Flonne end up here?"

"Almaz probably. Although Beryl seems to be relishing the opportunity to get your friends acquainted with her friends. Next thing you know, she'll be turning them against you."

"They're not my friends."

Mao gave him a look that said he wasn't buying it.

"How many more fights do I have before I get to punch the lady who wrote I Set Fire To The Rain?"

"Five I think?" Mao said pulling a sheet of paper.

The man in the corner had stopped working out, and was now staring at them with an odd intensity.

"Are you even old enough to be here?" he asked. Laharl felt a lick of annoyance roll in his stomach.

"Go look in the mirror, and ask yourself that," he said, looking at the page Mao was shoving in his face. Four fights.

* * *

They made about a hundred in bet money from the next round of fights. Mao cawed, and hooted happily from outside the cage, as he counted the money, handing a cigarette through the bars when the last guy was half dragged out of the ring.

"One more fight, and you're golden, Ponyboy."

"Fuckin' geek," Laharl muttered, turning back to watch for the champion.

Adell, as it turned out, was the same red head they'd seen in the locker room. Laharl took a deep breath, and placed his hands on his knees, as he entered to cheers, and applause.

"I hope we can have a fair fight," was the first thing Adell said. Laharl laughed, using all the air he had just managed to suck back into his lungs to push out a horse chuckle.

"Fair?" He took a deep breath before continuing. "There is nothing fair about this," a pause as he tried to get more air into his body. "Look at us. You straight from the locker room, all rested up, and ready to rumble, and me. I've been out here for four consecutive fights."

Adell paused for a moment frowning.

"I'm bruised. My hip is kinda busted up, and I can feel the blood vessels in my eye bleeding. How in fuck's name could you possibly hope to have a fair fight with me?"

There was a slight booing from the audience, Some heckling calls. Laharl swallowed some of the blood pooling in his mouth from where his teeth had torn through his cheek.

"Take that kid outta the ring!" someone screamed, but Adell held up a hand.

"No. He's got a point."

Laharl laughed, and stood up so he could find a place to lean against one of the cages sides, taking a deep drag on the cigarette Mao had handed him.

Adell watched the cigarette in his hand as it fell limp by his side, lighting the bottoms of the letters on his knuckles up until the point where they were covered up by his knuckle wrappings.

"I won't fight for the first minute of this fight," Adell declared.

"So you're just going to stand there, and let me wail on you for the sake of fairness?" The crowd made took a collective breath as Laharl flicked the cigarette onto the floor, and squared up.

"Yes."

"And you're the kind of man who holds to his word, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Bigger they are," Laharl said, pulling his knee up, and extending his foot like a whip into Adell's arm. He took the moment of disorientation to rush, pushing with his forearms, and then sweep against the Achilles tendons with the reenforced toe of his boot.

Adell hit the ground with a hard woof.

"Harder they fall."

Laharl had never had the chance to showboat in a ring match. Adell's complacency allowed him that small pleasure, and he stretched up, reveling in the feeling of the crowd's boos crashing down on his naked shoulders.

Adell's bare feet set back against the concrete, picking him up again. Two punches, and a kick that met no guard, and slammed the man's head back hard on his neck. Adell spit on the ground, and wiped at his mouth.

"What's your discipline?" he asked.

"Kickboxing," Laharl said, slamming another punch into Adell's sternum.

"Kickboxing with boots? Seems foul play." There was a wheeze in Adell's voice.

"Boxe Francaise*," Laharl said pistoning his foot into the man's knee. "What's your discipline?"

"MMA**," Adell said in the breath he got between dropping to his hands, and taking another kick to the side of his face. He held up a hand, asking for a stop.

Laharl paused as he regained his footing, wiping at his nose.

"You're minute's up, kid," Adell said. Laharl felt excitement burn in his throat as they both squared. It was the first time all night he was given a proper signal to start. Not the one he was used to though, instead Adell bent at the waist in a short bow before charging

The grapple was so foreign as Adell's shoulder met his stomach that Laharl suffered a moment of shock. The air left his lungs again, and his ribs groaned in protest as his back hit the side of the cage.

Laharl aimed his fists at the red spot in his vision that was Adell's head. The noise in the room was all spinning together in a whirling cacophony. He wanted to puke. Too intensive a workout. Too intensive an impact.

Adell grunted as Laharl's boot hit the inside of his thigh. Fuck Queensbury Rules***. He jammed his knuckles hard up into the man's throat, meeting with a number of boos as Adell staggered back clutching at his larynx.

Laharl would have pressed the attack if he could have breathed, and his legs weren't killing him.

"This is the part where the hero suffers a great loss, and has to go through hellish training in order to learn special moves, and overtake the adversary who disgraced him!" He heard Flonne saying loudly.

"Go hero!" Beryl screamed. He flipped the bird in their general direction as Adell coughed.

"Fair fight," Adell wheezed.

"Your words not mine."

The red head looked about ready to thrash him as he dropped back into stance. Wary of the zero to ten grapples, Laharl took to his toes, and danced in closer. A jab to the stomach, dodging out of range quickly, and planting his toe hard between the man's ninth, and tenth ribs to dig into his liver.

"You've got a mean kick."

"Like a whip," Laharl said.

Adell laughed, and came up for a kick that should have missed, but instead caught Laharl in the chest, and sent him sprawling back. An elbow caught him in the ribs while he was one the floor before he was even allowed to try and come to scratch****.

"Fuck," he groaned, rolling onto his knees. "Maybe I should just give you the fucking pot money."

Adell snorted hard through his nose.

"You're right," Laharl said. "Never gonna happen."

His kick caught Adell in the hip this time, and laid him out flat on his face.

"You done?" Laharl asked. Adell shook his head as he stood back up.

The next two, and a half minutes were a blur of angry kicks, and breathless taunts that proved neither one of them was really as tired as they thought. Laharl felt the blood pounding in his head, and his ribs bending in his chest under the constant grapples, and hard punches.

His body was spent, and yet there was something stupidly defiant that wouldn't allow him to drop. Adell seemed to be in the same state, and with their arms wrapped around each other's necks in what was probably the most painful resting-bear-hug of the century, it was easy to see just how much that was true.

He would hear the man's breaths coming in hard pants, and feel the limp in his left leg every time he pressed for ground to get him up against the side of the cage. It was probably in his knee. Laharl had seen it the last time the heel of his boot had hit against the side of it's cap. Eye contact was key in any fist fight, and at that moment Adell's eyes had been nothing but the painful realization that he would be feeling that.

He aimed another kick to it, and felt Adell start to give out just in time to dodge out of the way of the man's weight. They were evenly matched. That had been a lucky hit. He didn't wait for the other man to try and scramble back onto his feet, kicking his head. Adell's body went limp, and shakily Laharl sat down on the floor, holding his knees.

There was some sound mounting like a pressure at the base of his skull, but he didn't pay any attention to it. Instead he lay down, and watched the lights fuzz out above him.

-

He woke up to his father standing over him, head wreathed in white light that stood in stark contrast to the yellow ones he had seen before his eyes closed. "What happened?" he asked.

"You got a concussion."

"Oh," he said, rolling onto his side. "Well fuck I guess?"

"You guess?" his father asked. "Etna called me, said she caught you fighting with some street thugs down town. Were you trying to get yourself killed? Arrested maybe?"

"Nah."

"'Nah?' Really Laharl that's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Maybe you should thank Etna for getting you to the emergency room," his dad said, pointing behind him to where Etna must have been standing. Maybe she's sitting, his brain suggested uselessly.

"If I do that will you stop yelling?"

His father's face went red, hands shaking at his sides.

"I can fight you too, old man," Laharl blurted lazily.

"You're grounded," his father bit.

Laharl blinked blankly as he was stormed away from, turning so that he could better see Etna as the door swung shut to herald his dad's exit. She was sitting. His head had been right about that.

"I'm grounded," he told her.

She muffled a chuckle behind her hand at that.

* * *

A/N:

*Boxe Francaise: More well known by the name Savate ("old boot" in French) is a type of kickboxing that basically combines French street fighting techniques with professional boxing. It also depends on impeccable balance, but trades such extreme flexibility for precision. It is often taught in conjunction with cane fighting similar to fencing as swords were banned on the streets of France in the 1800's, but canes were not.

**MMA: Mixed Martial Arts. It's classified as a full contact combat sport. There are three major variations: Stand Up- comprised various forms of boxing, Clinch- comprised of Greco-Roman wrestling, freestyle, and judo type throws, and Ground: comprised of various forms of wrestling.

***Queensbury Rules: The code of ethics, essentially, in English boxing. They are named after the man who endorsed them, the Marquee of Queensbury. There are 12 Rules in all. Savate doesn't follow them really, so it's more of a saying here because strikes to the neck are out in almost any proper ring match for contact sports.

****Come To Scratch: standing up, basically.


	6. In These Lame-ass Pastures

A/N: A Couple of Notes. First this fic may be changing ratings from 'T' to 'M' depending on the next chapter, and some other stuff. Second, a warning for casual drug use, and mentions of rape. Promise it's nothing too heavy as this story is still rated 'T' atm, but putting that out there for anyone who's really sensitive about these sorts of things. (I promise it's not Trainspotting.)

* * *

Laharl hadn't gotten out of bed for a couple of days. He'd been discharged from the hospital soon after admission, and just not gotten up since then, school, and social life be damned. He wasn't taking any calls either. Instead he opted to let the phone ring from it's place beneath his pillow.

That morning marked the beginning of the third month of his relocation from his mother's house to his father's. He stared blankly at the calendar on the wall, thinking about how his dad had gotten a phone call just last night telling him that the reconstruction of the body was proving too difficult. His mother's funeral would have to be closed casket- held for a bag of mush- or it would feature an urn.

Laharl had asked for her to be cremated. His excuse was that keeping the remains would be 'metal as fuck'. Something deep down inside of him knew, though. It was just an excuse to keep her near him.

He looked toward the door when someone knocked on it, giving a croaked "come in" that was probably so stereotypical teenager the person on the other side winced. He really was hurting the movement for equality of the ages, and yet he couldn't much care less. Like equality of the ages _mattered_.

Etna opened the door slowly, letting the natural light from the hallway fall into his room. He hissed jokingly at it's presence, and gained a small laugh for his efforts at comedy.

"Fuck you," he said as she closed the door. "I'm funny."

"How's being grounded?" she asked. She was holding a tray of food that he could just make out in the dim light.

"I get room service, so I'd say this shit is pretty cash."

She shook her head, and slid the tray onto his nightstand. Soup. He fucking _loved_ soup, but the thing he was most grateful for was the package of mint gum leaned up against the bowl. His father had banned him from it with the grounding.

"Your dad wants me to talk to you about the fighting," she said when he'd tucked the gum away underneath his mattress, and pulled the bowl into his lap.

"You already know about it." The soup was warm on his tongue when he took a bite. Warm, and salty. Perfect.

"Yeah. Doesn't mean I don't have to pretend. He seriously digs that we pal around. It's hilarious because he get's all sappy about it."

"Yeah, yeah. Tell me more about how my dad sucks," he said, gnawing on a piece of beef.

She laughed, and her weight laid into the bed by his feet as she sat down. "He's not all bad."

"You're loosing browny-points, girlscout."

"I know. You wanna talk shit about him?"

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me? All I ever do is talk shit about people, and complain."

"Obvi," she said. "You know he snores?"

"All old people do, bro." She laughed, and he dipped his spoon back into the soup bowl. "Once when I was about, like eight, he wanted to take my mom, and I out to the zoo, and have a family day. It was too hot, and nothing really went well, except that he managed to piss of a money so bad that it threw shit at him through the fence, and it like came flying through the grating, and just covered his face, and the stupid hawaiian t-shirt he was wearing."

Etna covered her mouth to try, and hold in the violent laughter that seemed to be trying to eat it's way out her nose, and mouth.

"He never wore that damn shirt again, and let me tell you, I felt for that monkey. That little shit stain- meant literally- spoke to the deepest parts of my soul. It was like he had carried out my will."

"That's touching."

"I've got a million stories like it," he declared. "My dad's not exactly the best with animals, _or_ poop, so when they mix together he gets the shit end of the stick."

Her hand was tight on the arch of his foot as she bent forward to chuckle at that one.

"How ya healing up?" she asked when all the giggles had left her.

"Pretty good. My hip still hurts, but it's getting better."

"That's good. When you passed out on us there, I thought we were gonna have to buy another coffin."

Laharl pressed his lips together, and swallowed hard. The soup was suddenly really interesting. Three months. His mother had been dead three months. His mouth felt suddenly dry.

"Nah," he said. "I'm pretty sturdy, you know?"

"I know," she said in an aloof tone, lying down so she was curled like a cat at his feet. "You can fuck some shit up. That was impressive. Mao called by the way, he's got your half of the money, and he's keeping it for you."

"I hardly believe that."

"He told me that he was making extra effort to be honorable for once because you scare the shit out of him."

"I hardly believe that either. The first time we met he threatened to dismember me with the fucking classroom scissors."

"How did you two meet anyway?" she asked, pushing her head up onto her palm.

Laharl half choked on his mouthful of soup. "Choir," he said.

"Choir?" The question was incredulous.

"Yeah. My mom made me take it in eighth grade. S'where I met Mao."

"That's _mortifying_."

"Yeah," he said staring at the blanket. "It was pretty bad. He of course thought it was the shit 'cause he's a freak of nature. Also doesn't have to be drunk to dig karaoke."

Etna shook her head. "I think I'm obligated to tell people you took choir."

"You do it, and I'll kill you," he said. She laughed a laugh that gave his a run for it's money. Evil in all the right ways. "I'll make sure it's painful."

"That's how I like it," she said," sliding off the bed, and strutting to the door. When the latch clicked shut behind him, he was left feeling very uncomfortable, and slightly aroused. Puberty was probably his worst enemy.

* * *

Flonne hugged him when he showed up to school the next day, her arms pulling him against her shoulder hard, and making him protest because the bruises hadn't stopped hurting yet. Everyone else gave him odd looks for the huge black eye. No one dared ask though. It felt like the nail in the metaphorical coffin for "those who fuck with me". He was proud.

"My sister was so worried when I told her you went to the hospital," Flonne said over lunch. Orange chicken Tuesday. He paused in turning a packet of soy sauce inside-out over his carton of rice.

"Your sister?"

"Yes. Her name is Ozone. You met her at breakfast."

"You have hippy parents, and I have little recollection of this," he said gesturing with his fork. "And yet I imagine I would have remembered someone with the name Ozone."

"I think she has a crush on you," Flonne said happily. She was poking lightly at her food with this smug look on her face.

"We met once for about thirty minutes maybe. During which time she said little more than 'hi' to me."

She preened beneath his mild outrage. "It doesn't take long to fall in love."

He felt disgusted. "Honestly," he said, "I think she's a bit young for me."

"Well maybe she's young now, but three years isn't that big a difference later on."

"And I think I'm not exactly interested in girls to begin with."

Flonne leaned over the table, and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "I am so glad that you trust me enough to tell me something personal like that, Laharl," she said in a hushed tone, as he tried to figure out what the fuck was happening. "And I want to tell you that I'm not as intolerant as others of my faith can be," She continued. "Unlike the Pope, I think that you are who you are, and if you're gay that's fine."

"What?!"

"It's okay, Laharl, I _accept_ you," she insisted.

He shook her hand off his wrist. "I don't need you to accept me, I'm not Gay!" he bellowed out over the quad, only realizing too late that that was how rumors started. His hand found it's way to his forehead as everyone turned to stare at them. "I cannot believe this is fucking happening," he muttered to himself.

"You can be honest with me, Laharl, I know it's scary, but I'm here to help. As your sponsor-"

"Stop saying my name!"

"I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need help with a problem I don't fucking have!"

"Laharl, language!"

He got up, and left, forgetting his lunch at her table.

* * *

At the end of the day someone had sharpied "SELF HATING FAG" onto his locker. Well, he thought as he slammed the thing shut with his book bag inside, at least he was being bullied by an insightful graffiti artist.

* * *

He, and Flonne met up in front of the school, and took the bus down to his dad's building so that they could resume their Etna stalking. The Super Secretary went her usual route to the Coffee Bean, and then down the street, turning a sharp left, and again they lost her.

"You should go home," Laharl said, when they came to the locked door once more. Flonne made a sound of disappointment. "I'm gonna wait here until Etna comes back out, and It might be a while. You should go home."

"But-"

"No buts," he declared quietly. Flonne slumped a bit, but nodded. The cold air was already biting at their faces, and Laharl imagined that must have been enough of a deterrent to keep her from arguing. Flonne loved playing super spies, and though he no longer had a reason to actively gather dirt on Etna, he still held to his schedule of shadowing her. Maybe because it was just something to do.

He was sorely lacking in things to do lately.

He spent hours waiting in that alleyway, head leaned up against the wall. He watched as the pedestrian traffic on the side walk died down, and picked up, and died down again with the waves of people summoned out, and home at similar times by some unrecognized hive mind.

It was dark by the time she came out, boots clip,clopping on the ground. He peeled out behind her, following at a safe distance with his jacked zipped and buttoned, and his scarf drawn up over his face to brace against the cold.

She walked in the opposite direction of which she'd come, pace quickening. He attempted to keep up with her, and before he knew it they were both running. He could hear the sound of her ragged breaths over his own, see it puffing out like smoke against the air.

What happened happened in stop motion. One moment she was running, and the next there were arms around her waist, and she was being pulled away from the street. Laharl felt something pitch in his stomach as a single shrill shriek caught his ears. Then she was quiet, refusing to make anymore noise. He could hear a man's low voice muttering threateningly.

His legs moved on their own, carrying him toward the place she'd gone out of sight. The man never saw him coming, going down with a single kick to the head. His stance had been off as he'd leafed through Etna's purse, holding her against the wall with his body.

Etna made the hissing sound of harshly drawn breath, as Laharl came fully into the alleyway. He walked up to the man, and crouched down beside him.

"I'd suggest you drop anything you grabbed out of the purse on your way out," he bit. The man froze up, giving him a look of shock. "Now," Laharl demanded, holding out a hand. "Or I'll beat you before I call the cops." The man shoved a tube of lipstick, and a photo ID into Laharl's palm, and scrambled to his feet as fast as possible.

"You know I have a fucking tazer, hero!" Etna said as her would be robber hightailed it in the other direction.

"Would you shut up, woman?" he asked. "What in fuck's name are you doing walking around at eleven at night?"

"Laharl? Man, you do _not_ look like such a fucking midget when you're playing night in shining armor. I didn't even notice you were six inches shorter than the shortest man on record."

"Where's your car?" he demanded, feeling like they were having two different conversations.

"In the garage two blocks down. I thought I heard someone following me, so I was running. He came out of nowhere. You either have really good timing, or you were following me."

"I was following you," he said nonchalantly as he piled all her things back into her purse.

There was a bit of a stunned silence. "Are you a rapist?" she asked. He could almost feel her reach for wherever the tazer was on her person.

"No."

"That's a real compelling argument, bub."

"Etna, you've known me for months, I have problems with having _consensual_ sexual experiences. Women freak me out. I'm allergic."

"Yeah, well I know enough statistics to know that stranger rape is far less common than acquaintance rape," she said with quite a bit of gusto.

"Do you really think I'd acquaintance rape you with my fists in an alleyway? The whole point of acquaintance rape is that it's easy. This would have been ten miles south of easy."

He heard her take a deep breath as he turned around, and handed her her purse.

"I was following you because I saw you on the street, and I wanted to catch up with you," he lied. She looked more than a little suspicious as she snatched the bag away from him. "You mind giving me a ride home?" he asked. "It's late, and I think the buses stopped running like an hour ago."

She nodded slowly.

The car ride home was stiff, and silent. She kept side-eyeing him, and changing the radio stations nervously. It felt kind of shitty. All he'd wanted to do was help, and clearly it'd only made things about a hundred times worse.

He remembered his mother telling him when he was very young, as one of her cousins came in crying, that women lived through things he could never imagine. That they always had to be careful. He felt sick to his stomach thinking that things like this may have happened to his mother. She could have been robbed like this, grabbing into an alley, and mugged. He wondered morbidly where the mugging could have possibly gone if it hadn't been stopped.

Etna had a tazer. Even if he hadn't helped it would have been fine, right?

"Do I really seem taller when I'm pretending to be a knight in shining armor?" he asked looking out the window.

"Yeah," she said stiffly.

"Dude, I need to do that more often. Everyone's always ragging on me for being tiny."

She gave him a soft nasally laugh, and changed the station for the third time that night cutting off to one of to one of the new Chili Peppers songs.

"They were better when they did drugs," he said softly.

"Kinda sucks to say, but it's true," she agreed.

* * *

They didn't talk for three days. His life worked in threes. Three months since his mother's death. Three days since he'd spoken to his father's affair. His stomach ate itself from the inside. He wasn't even supposed to care about her, and yet he was climbing the walls of his own skull trying to understand what exactly he'd done wrong.

He was even too scared to make eye contact when they passed by each other at home. Flonne worried over him at school, thinking it was because of his brand new sexuality, and the hate he seemed to be getting from it. He tried to ignore her continued attempts to get him involved in the Gay community.

Finally, his father sat him down in the living room, and looked him straight in the eye.

"Etna says you saved her from getting mugged the other night," he said.

Laharl frowned at the coffee table. "I figured she was mad about that."

"Why would you think that?"

"She called me a rapist, and then got really freaked out about me. We still haven't talked."

His father nodded solemnly. "Well she told me you swooped in right at the last second, and got the guy to give back her things, so I'd say it's good on you, okay kid?"

"Sure," Laharl said quietly.

His dad patted him on the back as he went to get up. "I'm proud of you," he said as he walked away.

Laharl found that he really couldn't care less for his father's misplaced pride.

* * *

Flonne took him to see Rent that week. Something he resented because musical theater was never something he enjoyed. Things did take an upswing in the ticket line though. It was still cold out, and the lamp posts were beginning to freeze over. They were all huddled together for warmth when he spotted the frizzed, white hair.

The top of his head bleached to the point that his hair would probably never grow all the way out again, Mao was instantly recognizable in a crowd, and beside him, the only person who had ever been shorter than Laharl was preening her pink parka. It matched the dye in her hair in a fabulously horrendous way.

"Mao!" Laharl called, trying to get his attention over the drone that was people talking. Mao's head popped up like a prairie dog that had heard a hawk over head.

"Laharl?"

"Who else?"

Mao turned catching sight of him in the crowd, and strode forward like he thought he was Moses parting the red sea. Laharl grabbed him by the hand, and they butted heads in greeting. Flonne looked baffled.

"What the fuck are you doing here, man?" Mao asked, before getting distracted, and adding in, "Wow that is still a nasty shiner," while pointing to Laharl's eye.

"Flonne's convinced I'm gay, and so I need to be educated," Laharl said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh dude you're gay? That makes so much sense!"

"Mao, stop it."

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it."

"Would you try it?"

Mao pulled a face. "No!"

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it," Laharl turned back on him in a taunting voice.

"What're you two homophobes talking about?" Beryl asked, sliding up beside Mao seamlessly.

"Gay stuff," Mao shot at her. She snickered quietly.

"So what are you two doing here?" Laharl asked.

Mao looked at Beryl. "I think it's a hate-date."

"Yeah. Kind of a hate-date," his raspberry flavored not-girlfriend responded.

"What's a hate-date?" Flonne asked.

Laharl cleared his throat, and gestured between Beryl, and Mao. "The kinda date you go on when you hate the person you're bending over every night."

"Bending over?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure the one who does that is Mao. Because as we know-"

"Mao Zedong," Laharl, and Beryl sang in unison. Mao punched them both in the arm.

"I'm not a Chinese dictator, or a penis, and that joke was never fucking funny."

"I don't know, man," Beryl said, leaning up against his arm. "I think it's still pretty fucking funny."

"I hate you."

"Hate-date!"

Flonne clearly didn't understand what was going on anymore. Laharl wished he could have commended her for her enthusiasm in her willingness to attempt to keep up. He patted her on the back lightly.

"So we got some stuff, you guys wanna go, get ready for the show?" Beryl asked.

"So long as you're sharing, and I don't have to pay you back, I'm game."

"You're a fucking leach," Mao hissed in his ear. Laharl smiled wide.

"Don't flatter me."

* * *

They all ended up crowded by one of the windows in the girl's bathroom, blowing smoke out the crack between pane, and wall, while sitting in the sinks. Flonne was watching with an intense fascination.

"You want some?" he asked, offering her the joint he'd been drawing from, and she reached out with tentative hands.

"Like this?" she asked, holding it up to her lips, and taking a small pull.

Beryl, and Mao laughed as they watched.

"Nah," Laharl said, sliding forward on the edge of the sink. He took the joint back, and said "Like this" making sure to take a long, slow drag, and then pull her close. He blew the smoke lazily into her mouth, to small hoots from Beryl, and a strong, "yeah baby" from Mao.

Flonne blinked at him with wide eyes as he took another drag. "That's how you do it," he said so that smoke carried every word. "You try."

Gently, she took the spiff, and mirrored his actions, pulling him in close, and breathing the smoke back into his mouth. Beryl made a noise of amused, but scandalized awe, and Laharl felt a distinct twitch in his pants. No. Definitely not gay.

"Woah, man," Mao said, leaning over Beryl. "That one learns fast. You'd better keep an eye on her."

* * *

Laharl had only seen a couple of people high in his life. Mao, Beryl. Almaz once, a few of the other guys, and that was about it. And out of the approximately five or six people he'd seen stoned, none of them had gotten stoned the way Flonne did.

At first she was simply content, and giggling, and funny. When the show started, everything was normal, she was leaning up against his arm the way she had when they went to the movies with Etna. It wasn't until the first act was done that things started to get odd.

Her hand ended up on his thigh, fingers digging into the muscle there as she held onto his scarf. About ten minutes later she started rubbing circles, and whispering in his ear. They were odd lines, things about being defiled, and deflowered. His brain wasn't exactly able to wrap all the way around them as the tips of her fingers just kept moving closer, and closer to his crotch.

He stopped breathing completely during intermission, when her hand was firmly on him through his pants. His knuckles were turning white on the armrests, and she was saying something about how it wasn't the first time she'd done this, but that didn't mean she wasn't pure.

Laharl tried again to get Mao to bail him out of the situation, but Mao was either completely oblivious, or thought it was a great laugh. And sure it was. Laharl imagined he'd have been laughing if he were in Mao's position.

He took a deep breath as the lights came on, and people started standing up. Maybe she'd go with them to the bathroom. Maybe he could make excuses to get out of there. Her grip tightened on his clothing when he tried to stand up though.

"Stay," she whispered in his ear.

"You're high," he tried to tell her as people started filing out on either side of them. "You don't know what you're doing."

She giggled. "I don't?"

A man, and a woman squeezed by, their thighs brushing his knee as they looked at him with confusion. Maybe disgust.

"No," he said, the words gritting hard between his teeth. "You don't. And I would very much like it," he managed to pry his hands off his armrests where they had frozen when all of this stared, and wrench her hand away from his crotch. "If you would stop."

She pouted, but sat back in her chair with her arms crossed. There was a moment of awkward silence between them during which she refused to look at him, and then the gravity of the situation came rushing in on him. He was sitting in a theater, watching a musical, and turning down a handjob. He looked really gay.

Maybe, he thought for a moment, he was. He thought on that until the lights went out again, and the second act started. Then he was terrified, because what if his life ended up being Rent?

* * *

Etna stared at him blankly over the kitchen table. It made him feel small, and stupid as he wrapped his hands around the mug of coffee she'd passed him.

"Well if you're smart your life _won't_ be Rent," she said calmly.

"Good. I _hate_ musical theater."

She laughed lightly, and took a sip of her own coffee. He could smell the creamer from where he was sitting. Bailey's Irish Cream without the tang of alcohol. She'd tipped some into his too, claiming, "It's not really Irish coffee if you take the Irish out of it," as she set it down on the table.

"Why do you think you're gay anyway?"

"I don't know," he said. The mug in his hands was warm as he drummed his finger tips on it. "Flonne thinks I am, and I totally turned down a handjob from a chick, so it's kind of obvious isn't it?"

"I don't know. Sounds legit to me," she said with a devilish smirk. He could tell she was making fun of him.

"Fuck off."

"Off's not too good in the sack."

"I hate you." At least he could say things were back to normal.

-

So he kissed Mao.

They were all sitting around his house, playing video games, and talking. Mao had a cigarette, and it was in between draws, while the other boy wasn't paying attention, that Laharl decided to smack him one.

It was probably one of the worst decisions of his life. A moment of lips meeting lips, and all the awkwardness in the world rushing down on them both. Mao's grey eyes were wide in the moment before they broke away from each other, spitting, and wiping their mouths with the palms, and backs of their hands.

"What he fuck?" Mao asked, making a face of disgust.

Laharl hung his head between his knees to try, and dispel the mortification.

"I had to be sure," He screamed at the cement floor.

"Sure of what?"

"That I'm not gay!"

"Dude, if you wanna be sure you're not gay, you gotta kiss someone who's hot!"

"Well Beryl's got a thing for you, I figured she had something going on in her head!"

"I have really bad taste," Beryl volunteered from where she was sitting on the ottoman with a devilish smirk on her face. Mao motioned to her with his arms as if holding her up as reference.

Laharl groaned, and tugged on his hair, trying to block out the situation, and Almaz's shocked face.

"I don't think I'm gay," Laharl told the floor. Beryl started laughing, and Mao took a long inhale from his cigarette as if trying to cleanse his mouth.

"Probably a good thing," he said. "'Cause you can't kiss a guy for shit."

Laharl wished he wasn't a real person anymore.

-

A/N: I just wanted to throw in that I really appreciate the input, and response I've gotten. Thank you so much for reading.


	7. Honor Thy Mother Turn Thy Father Away

A/N: So a new chapter and a rating change. Sorry about that guys. This is the chapter where stuff actually starts happening though, so at least that. Sex scene in this chapter, and mentions of child abuse because certain characters come with it as part of the package.

* * *

He came home from Mao's drunk. They'd celebrated the news of his heterosexuality with a few too many toasts, all of which Beryl had protested to. He was stumbling a bit when he closed the front door, laughing to himself because he was just so fucking sneaky as he tipped a chair over, and listened to it crash onto the floor.

His hand came up to cover his mouth as much from shock as from laughing too hard. He stood there for a moment like that, though it must have been more than a moment because when he looked up, Etna was standing there in her bathrobe squinting at him.

"It's like three in the fucking morning," she said. He laughed into his palm, making her eyes squint even harder as if she was trying to read some cryptic text. He swayed on his feet, and tried not to be too obvious about being a little more than tipsy.

"Are you drunk?"

"Nuh," he said with all the conviction of a confused cow going the wrong way on a produce road. He laughed a bit more because that image was hilarious. Cows had to be downright cartoonish when confused.

"Try making your lies convincing next time, whiskey dick." Her arms crossed over her chest.

"I'm not a whiskey dick."

Her eyebrow arched. "How much did you have to drink?"

"Like six."

"Bottles? At your size? You are such a whiskey dick right now it's painful to look at."

Glaring, he took a bold step away from the table. One foot in front of the other, until he was less than a foot from her, the tip of his nose looking like it would brush the bottom of hers.

"You smell like a fucking brewery," she said.

"Doesn't mean I'm a whiskey dick."

She tried to laugh, but he caught her by the front of her robe, and dragged her the half inch downward that it took for her lips to hit his. Her hands flailed for a moment, eyes wide. He watched her as her eyebrows tugged down into a glare, and she pulled away.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asked when he didn't let her get too far.

"Showing you I'm not a whiskey dick."

In the morning he would not be able to relate in full detail the sequence of events that lead him from the hallway into his bedroom with his father's secretary. In his head everything just sort of mashed together into good idea land where every idea, no matter how stupid, was brilliant. In the morning he wouldn't even be able to understand how he had managed to jump into the water with both feet when he had been dallying around the edge for so long, looking at everyone else swimming in the pool that was sexual functionality.

He would be able to say though, that sex was like fighting. Her hands were fisted in his hair, and her teeth were firm on the sensitive skin of his neck as he pushed her down onto the bed, and kicked her legs apart. The same adrenaline was pumping in his veins when his jacket joined his scarf on the floor, and she started pulling mercilessly on his t-shirt.

Sex was just like fighting. It came complete with the hissed insults, and, like those odd fights filled with extra desperation to live, the annoying tightening of pants due to too much excitement. It was fighting without a cup though, and was significantly more dangerous because of it.

She was naked much more easily. The robe came clean off with just a tug, and her arms were around his shoulders pulling him down.

"You know how to do this right?" she asked.

"Show me."

He felt her smile against his ear, felt her hand move over his shoulder, and down his chest to linger at the top of his waistband.

"You want me to show you?" He nodded, and the button popped open beneath her fingers. "Will you be a good boy, and watch closely?" she asked, pulling the zipper down. The sound he made was not one that he would have been all too proud of if he'd had the presence of mind to be listening to himself at the time. It was high, and needy. It made her chuckle softly against his hair as she reached down into his boxers.

His whole body tightened. Her hands weren't as soft as he'd expected, but that didn't really matter, because in reality so few expectations were actually fulfilled, and this was one of those negligible ones. Soft or not, good was what mattered, and it was clear she knew what she was doing even if he had no idea.

His pants ended up around his thighs, the only layer of anything really between her legs and his.

"Good boy," she whispered in his ear as the rhythm was set. Her hand on his ass was an encouraging pressure. The fact that he could look down, and see her smile in the low light may have added to that. The idea that feeling good made her smile, that she liked it- His hand found her waist to pull her into him, and try to keep them both steady.

Of course it didn't last long. It was over in a moment of tightness, and intensity that made his muscles quiver, and a deep embarrassment creep up into his face.

"Shh,"she said, as he tried to pull away. "Watch." So he did. He watched as she touched herself, watched her smile while she came, too. Then he laid his heavy body down beside hers, arms wrapped loosely around her chest, and fell asleep.

* * *

He woke up with a headache, and his boots still on, pants only part way down his legs under the covers. She was next to him, staring at the ceiling, expression blank.

"Your father didn't come home last night," she said.

He felt an instant moment of sick at the mention of his old man. His wince would have told the whole tale if she'd been looking at him.

"Should we tell him?" he asked.

She blew a derisive laugh through her nose at him. "What do you want to do, walk right up to him, and say 'Hey dad, I lost my V card,' then wait for him to clap you on the back, and be proud before you drop "with your girlfriend!'?" She made double guns with her fingers, and winked at the acoustic above them. "Because that is the stupidest idea ever, Laharl."

"Yeah," he said, rolling onto his back. He brought his legs up to his chest, and began untying the laces of his boots.

"Where do you think he is?" she asked, her sentenced punctuated by the sound of one of his clod hoppers banging down on the wooden floor in front of the door. He winced again, but she remained stony faced. Unfazed.

"I don't know," he said. "I've never tried to understand my dad."

"Maybe that why you never got along."

He hated to admit that she had a point.

A moment of tense silence fell over them, only broken by his other shoe finding its way onto the floor, and his pants being pushed off his body.

She rolled onto her side, and looked him in the eyes. "I totally just spite fucked you, you know that?"

"Yeah, I figured," he said. At least she was honest. "Doesn't really matter I guess. I did still manage to get my point across." He paused, squinting. "I think?"

She laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it kid. I got the point. And most of the shaft too."

He covered his face with both hands as she got up, and walked out of the room.

"You can keep the robe," she threw over her shoulder. "It's got your jizz on it anyway."

* * *

By the time twelve noon rolled around, it was pretty clear that his dad wasn't going to come home. Etna sat on the back of the couch with mug after mug of coffee, staring at the front door, and waiting. Eventually, when the caffeine had started to short out her metabolism, she asked him to bring her his pack of cigarettes.

Laharl only really ever smoked around Mao. It was kind of a social thing. He tended to hold onto a pack for at least a month, which was probably good considering Mao owned his fake ID, and only rationed it out every once in a while. Of course it meant his smoked had the tendency to got stale. He'd gotten used to it, but Etna clearly had not.

"I didn't know marlboros were such shit," she coughed. It seemed though, that her opinions on his ability to smoke anything didn't keep her from compulsively trying to calm her nerves.

At about six, she gave up spectacularly, throwing is empty cigarette pack, and his lighter into the air with a massive "Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him!"

"I don't need shit!" she continued to scream as he lamented the fact that he would now be bargaining with Mao to get his hands on that ID. "I don't need anything! If he wants to fuckin' be like this I can just pack my bags, and go, because I don't give a damn about his smarmy little ass being a bitch!"

Then she deflated, rounding the couch, and flopping down with her hands in her lap. "Do you think he's okay?"

"I-" Laharl had rarely ever seen Etna express an emotion other than smug. She had always been the cat who ate the canary, and so in moments like this, when she started to get scared, or worried, he lost his ability to understand what his roll in their odd friendship was. If you could even call it a friendship. He would have called it a buddy-ship before, but then he'd had to go, and get his dick caught in her ceiling-fan.

"I don't know," he admitted. "When I was little, he used to go on these business trips for days without telling my mom, but she always got a call about six hours after he went AWOL."

Etna frowned, and slid over so that she was lying with her head in his lap. "You know, when I'm the ruler of the world, he's the first on my execution list?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

* * *

The next morning, he called missing persons.

"They need to be missing for three days," The woman on the other end of the line told him.

"Well what are we supposed to fucking do then?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry sir."

The clack of a dead line met him, and he threw the phone hard at the wall, watching as the battery cover bounced on the kitchen tile.

* * *

The cops finally showed up two days later, when Etna tried calling it in again. What they didn't expect was for them to do their job by tring to take Laharl away.

"You're a minor without parental supervision," the short man who's badge said 'Thursday' told him.

"I'll be supervision!" Etna tried, holding onto Laharl's arm.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but as you weren't married to his father you cannot assume custody. We'll have to put him with next of kin."

A moment of realization dawned, buzzing between Laharl's ears. "No!"

The officer, and Etna both froze, and looked at him.

"I am not going to that woman. Put me in foster care."

"Laharl?"

"No, you fucking listen to me, I am not going to her."

"To who?" the officer asked.

"My aunt. My uncle is the next of kin, which leaves me in the custody of my aunt, and that is not going to happen!"

"I'm sorry," The officer said. Her badge read Carter. Laharl hated her with all his heart.

* * *

He spent the night in a group home which was a relief, and come morning, he started hoping he'd get to stay there. His backpack was all he really needed. He could live anywhere. Mao had proven that to him, when he had the great idea that they be homeless in eighth grade. They'd spent four days living in the wash like hobos before their parents found them, and they'd been fine then. He'd be fine now.

Or that's what he thought until the counselor told him the truth. She was coming to get him in an hour. He counted down the minutes to hell, sitting in the entryway, knees jumping up, and down with nerves as he watched the clock. Just last night he and Etna had been sitting at the table together, and everything had been mostly fine. Just three months ago he'd been with his mother, and everything really had been fine.

The world moved so fast sometimes. Like a river all slow, and methodical until some massive drop was coming up. This was it. This was his hundred foot fall, and something told him he wouldn't make it out this time. He'd lived through his mother's death, his father's existence, and then nonexistence, but there was no way in hell he could stomach the demon woman.

When he was nine, years ago, he had spent four days in her care. His parents had wanted a second honey moon, probably to try, and rekindle their dying marriage, and he'd been handed over to Yasurl. He had tried so hard to put those four days out of his mind. Tried like hell to get them to go away.

Little memories like her leaning up against the wall with a switch, smiling. She had always smiled. Always happy, and proud of herself. She had aimed for the legs so he couldn't run away. He remembered trying to hide the little straight bruises from his mother, how she had found them while tying his shoe the morning after, and he'd told her they'd been running through some bushes.

He would always remember the look on his mother's face. She had never been so strangely skeptical of him as in that moment. He'd felt sick with the idea that she would know, and if she knew Yasurl would kill her because Yasurl was Satan himself.

Eight o'clock, and the door opened. The door opened, and she bustled in all a flutter of over-sweet words.

"My darling nephew!" she said, holding her arms out wide as if to go for a hug. "It's so good to see you again, it's been years! Your uncle and I missed you so much!"

He shied away when she crouched before him, and put a hand on his knee.

"I've just been 'round your father's house to pick up everything you need, so now, let's get you home. Where do i sign you out?"

Laharl felt like he was being dragged under the water by a crocodile, lodged under a log, and left to soften so he would be a good meal. She signed some papers with a social worker that sounded like a casket sliding shut, and took him by the hand to lead him out the door.

It was bright outside. He felt ill.

* * *

Etna didn't like her. She'd known from the moment she had opened the door, and been met by that simpering smirk. Yasurl, as she'd introduced herself with high toes, and looping syllables, had torn through the house like a hurricane, taking possession of all of Laharl's things. His computer, his clothes, his bedding.

Etna had stood in the doorway to Laharl's room, and watched as she packed suitcase after suitcase full of his things, blabbing on the whole time about how much she'd missed her darling nephew, and his little round cheeks, and how wonderful it had been to watch him in the past.

Etna hadn't had the best life before Krichevskoy. She'd seen scum, and she knew it by it's sound, and it's smell. Yasurl was not a good person, and maybe Etna wasn't either, but the Prince belonged to the King, and seeing as she was the King's consort, and the Queen was dead, it was her job to watch after the boy.

Yasurl was a snake curled up under a bush. Etna hated snakes. She also hated the law. The interference. Laharl was going through enough shit. Sure when he'd first showed up, her assumption at the sight of him was that they were going to try their damnedest to get rid of each other, but he was sweet under all the shit. He was Kris's son after all.

"I thought his uncle was his next of kin," she said as Yasurl moved the suitcases out into the foyer.

"I'm his wife," the woman offered dismissively, stopping in front of the mirror on the wall to fix her lipstick.

"Yes, but shouldn't he be the one doing this?"

"Oh he's too busy. I'm his wife. Children are a wife's job."

Etna's teeth made a screaming sound as they ground into each other.

"Well," Yasurl declared with a smack of her lips, "I'll be going now. Give Kris my love… If he ever shows up that is."

Etna was livid thinking about Laharl in her care. Was livid thinking about Laharl's face as the police practically forced him out the door.

He had her phone number though. She was sure he would call if things got too bad.

* * *

He did call. At five in the morning, her phone rang. She was greeted with harsh words on the other end of the line.

"You have to come get me!" he hissed, as if he were trying to be quiet.

"Laharl?" she got a small 'mhm'. "Look, Prince, I know she's a bitch, but it can't be that bad."

"No. You have to come get me, I can't stay here."

She sat up in bed, holding the covers up to cover her breasts, and keep her nipples from the cold air. "Why? What's up?" she asked.

"I don't wanna talk about it, can you please, just come?"

"You need to tell me what happened, Laharl," she said as calmly as she could.

"No!" he bit, and the line went dead.

She sat there, staring at her phone for a while, the blank home screen stared back: her, and Kris smiling happily. Laharl had always been a weird kid, but this was weird even for him. Usually he would tell her what was going on with some prompting.

Her head felt heavy on the pillow, and she was tired from a long day, but she just couldn't sleep after that. His hushed voice kept echoing in her head "you need to come get me".

* * *

She stopped by Flonne's house after school on Monday to try, and get some information about Laharl's behavior. He hadn't called her since Sunday night, and she was starting to worry even if she didn't want to admit it.

"Well he didn't talk much," Flonne said. "I figured he was just in a bad mood. He gets like that sometimes. Still it's kind of weird that he wouldn't tell me about his father going missing, and having to live with his Aunt."

"He's not going to live with her," Etna said stubbornly. "Kris is coming back."

"But he's living with her right now, isn't he?"

Etna kicked her shoe against the paving stones in Flonne's walk way. Flonne was too sharp for her own good sometimes, and it made Etna feel bad about herself.

"I'll do something."

"You could file for custody. If I remember, according to Batman, and Robin in the late nineties, it's now illegal to file for him as a ward, but if you adopt him as your son-"

"I couldn't do that," Etna cut off. She must have looked panicked, maybe her face was red. She didn't know, but Flonne's head cocked to the side, and she frowned slightly.

"Maybe you should talk to Mao. He, and Laharl seem pretty close."

Etna nodded. "Thanks, Flonne."

* * *

"I ain't talking to you," was the first thing Mao said when she asked about Laharl.

"Why not?"

"Dude, do you really need to ask that question? He's my partner in crime, I can't tell you what he tells me. It's like the sacraments of Bro-hood. "Whatever shall be confessed to thyne brother, let it be taken as if in confidence, and not be spilled to unknown ears, or prying women."" he said as if reciting something from text.

"Did you find that on the internet?"

"No. I made it up," Mao said, preening. "I'm a fucking genius. What do you expect?"

"I expect you to tell me what the fuck is going on with our little Prince, not feed me pseudo Shakespearian lines."

"Elizabethan," Mao corrected.

"What-fucking-ever."

"Look, if you wanna know the truth, Edna-"

"Etna," she corrected, her turn to be right.

He waved it off, and continued seemingly without care. "Whatever- He hasn't said anything weird to me. Actually, we haven't talked at all for like a week, which is normal for us. We go on talking hiatuses, because neither one of us is really a good friend, and we know it, so no sweat. What I do know is that he's experimenting with the same sex."

"Nah," Etna said with a flick of her wrist. "He- um- He got over that pretty quickly."

Mao squinted at her for a moment, head swiveling in an odd, owlish fashion, as his glasses started fogging up. She wondered briefly how he managed to breathe in a way that that was possible.

"Did you?" he asked, breaking her out of her confusion. "Did he? You fucked?"

"No," Etna said perhaps a bit too quickly, because Mao started muttering to himself. In the end that was how the cat got out of the bag, and she wanted to kill herself, or maybe Mao. Or maybe she'd even march all the way over to that bitch's house, and kill Laharl.

Instead she seethed internally, and marched back to her little red convertible with an aloof flip of the bird as Mao laughed hysterically.

* * *

The shower was too hot beating down on his back, but Laharl didn't want to move. There was something in the water that kept his head cool. Cool, and functioning. He closed his eyes, and tried to shut out the sounds of the house. The little tumbling notes of speech that filtered in under the water.

She'd taken his phone, and his earbuds, and with them his solace. The constant exposure to sounds made him sick. The constant exposure to her made him worse.

Deep down in his chest, where his stubbornness lived, there was some creature that told him to run, and run far, and his head was wont to listen to it.

Everyone could leave him, and in the end, he knew they would. His mother could die. His father could disappear. Mao could get a scholarship to some big name University far away. Etna could find more gold to dig out of someone else's pockets. Flonne could elope with the Dean. No matter what, the stubborn beast in his gut would carry him through it.

At the end of the day, he only had himself, and fuck if he was gonna leave too.


	8. And Where You Stay I Will Stay

A/N: Because I realized that not everyone has read the Disgaea novels, I wanted to point out, that none of the characters in this story who are important enough to be given names, are original. Yasurl is Laharl's canon Aunt who is married to his father's brother Vesuvius. They have two children, twins named Kira, and Shas. Flonne's sister Ozone is her canonical sister, and her parents according to the books are named Telle, and Elle. Warning s in this chapter for panic attacks, and illusions to abuse.

* * *

Laharl was standing halfway in the fridge when Etna came home. There was a piece of chocolate cake in his mouth, too. Incriminating evidence that he felt the need to hide by shoving it past his lips, and wiping the back of his hand across them.

She was smiling when he stood up to peer at her around the refrigerator door.

"I see you're out, and about," she said. "Been four days."

He figured she was referencing the phone call from monday morning as he swallowed. "I'm supposed to be at a study group."

"Sounds lame. You wanna stay here tonight?"

He felt a moment of hesitation, and slight fear well up in his throat from beneath the chocolate cake. "I shouldn't."

"It could be fun though," She prompted. "I can take you to a club, or something. We'll get drunk, and dance. All fun. All games. Gotta be better than staying with auntie eat your face."

He thought about it, eyebrows drawing down, and together. No, his brain was telling him, but the temptation of getting away from Yasurl- "Sure," he said.

Etna's smile was devilish. It made him want to study the way she moved when she thought she'd won. She had this habit of skipping a little bit, and grabbing him by the wrist to drag him around.

"You're not going to put me in a mesh shirt, are you?" he asked when she'd sequestered him in his father's bedroom.

"what are you a fourteen-year old virgin?" she asked, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, and pulling his scarf off. He felt the panic start welling up in him, and tried to swallow it down by maintaining a stoic facade. "Your fashion sense may be stuck in the nineties, but that doesn't mean anyone else's is."

She tugged his shirt off over his head, and held a few more up. "What we are gonna put you in is something shiny. The point is being noticed in the dark. So you wear something that will kind of blend in until you see the detailing, and that's what pops."

He took a deep breath, and let her pull one of the shirts over his head. Then her hands were moving to the waist band of his pants to appraise them. He stopped breathing, tried to focus on the fact that this was Etna. Etna was safe. They'd known each other for a good, long time, and she'd been safe for all of it. The skin at the corners of his lips found it's way between his canines, as his eyes scrunched shut. He could hear Yasurl creeping into the corners of his mind, hissing nasty things, and biting at the air.

"Are you wearing chick's pants?" Etna asked. Air rushed back into his body as his eyes opened, and he noticed she was staring at the button right above his fly.

"Yeah," he said. She chuckled, and smoothed down the red denim on his thighs.

"You know what? I like them. You can keep the pants, and the boots. All you need now is a nicer belt."

His belt slid out of the loops with a snap, and he flinched away, expecting it to smack down on his shoulders, or around his knees. It didn't. It was only set aside, and replaced with a thinner one.

Etna smiled that same devilish smile then, caught him by the wrist, and dragged him on into the bathroom. He was sat harshly down on the toilet cover, and she started going through a massive box of makeup.

"You need eyeliner," she declared, whipping out a colored pencil, and setting it down on the counter with authority. "And you need some mascara." A little black tube joined the pencil. "And I think that's it. Lip gloss would make what you got from your mom too obvious."

He held his fingers to his lips, trying to grasp what she'd just said as she knelt down in front of him with the pencil.

"Now hold still so I don't accidentally stab you in the eye, okay?"

* * *

Etna probably had the worst taste in music. She shuffled a number of the worst CDs he'd seen in a long time, and finally settled on one labeled, "Party Mix". It was filled with Ru Paul, and Aqua, and she seemed to know all the words.

She looked over half way through a song the player titled as "Fellas Who Like Fellas", and looked at him, frowning. "Fine," She said, turning the volume down. "If you think my music is so shit, put some of your own on.

She flicked a little cable at him, and switched the radio settings over to AUX.

"Make is something poppy, and fun, though."

He shrugged, and picked the playlist titled Yelle. Stupid, French pop bands had been his mother's thing, and despite realizing that it was not considered to be "good music" by anyone he knew, nor was it really something in keeping with his style, he liked it. Mostly, he knew because it reminded him of her, and sitting on long car rides.

Etna was giving him a very odd look when they pulled into a parking space outside some joint that she probably frequented.

"I thought you were a punk," she said, half disbelievingly.

"I am, but that doesn't mean that's the only music I listen to."

She nodded, because it was a fair point, and opened the car door. "I hope you're ready to have fun," she said. "Because that's all we're in for tonight."

* * *

Laharl was not a fan of loud places, and that is clearly what the club was. Etna knew the bouncer, and pulled some strings to get him in. He tried not to think about what those strings were, or how she'd managed to get her hands on them. Etna was like that. Sneaky in ways he didn't understand.

Her arm felt heavy around his neck, as she pulled him onto the floor, and through the crowd.

"You know how to dance, right?" she yelled close to his ear so he could hear her.

"A little!"

"Good!"

Her hands were on his shoulders when she pulled him to a stop amidst a bunch of moving bodies. He didn't know if he would call it fun, but there was something about watching her have fun that was entertaining. That's probably what got him going in the end. Probably the reason he lost his head, and eventually his footing.

He made the biggest mistake he'd ever made. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, she wasn't the one he was dancing with. It was someone else. She was about the same height, but everything else about her was different. Long, blonde hair whipped about his face, and he took a sharp breath, trying to put distance between them, but her arms were around his shoulders, and she was pulling closer.

There was Yasurl again, hissing in his ears louder than the music. The woman smelled like booze, but it was hard to focus on that when he could smell Yasurl's perfume creeping up his nose. He put his hand on her sternum to push away, but she just smiled, and took another step.

She didn't say anything when she leaned forward, and pressed the side of her face up against his. His ears focused in on the sound of her breathing, got it confused with someone else's, and sent him foot over head backward into panic.

"No!" he screamed, pushing out with his hands. Fight or flight kicked in, freezing him in place as he watched her puzzle over what was going on. "No!" he screamed again.

She opened her mouth, and said something, but it was lost in the noise, and the commotion, and his brain dubbing everything over with his aunt laughing, and snarling nasty things.

He turned, and slammed into someone else, trying to get out. Everyone was moving. Everyone was moving, and it was loud. The sound was creeping into his head, and rattling around inside his skull. The idea that he would be crushed flitted briefly around behind his eyes before a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

Etna's face swam out of the dark, and the noise, and in his panic, he lurched forward into her, resting his forehead on her collar bone.

"Laharl?"

"I'm sorry, I guess!" He shouted into her shirt sleeve. Her hand found the nape of his neck.

"Let's go get a drink, okay?"

He nodded, and she took his hand, leading him off the floor toward the bar. Her hand on his was like a lifeline. He tried to narrow is focus to that, keep his mind occupied with her fingers. Not as soft as he thought they'd be. Still just as good.

The memory that thought evoked made his stomach balk violently. Yasurl was robbing him of everything.

The bar stool was cold when he sat down on it. She leaned up beside him so that her stomach brushed his shoulder comfortingly.

"The bar is more of a cool down spot than a spot to get something to drink, but if you want, I could buy you something stiff," she said a lot more quietly than they'd been speaking before.

The bar was also rather crowded, but it wasn't nearly so live. The people here were calmer. He took a few deep breaths.

"Anything. I don't care what it is so long as it does it's job."

She nodded, but there was a look of concern on her face.

* * *

He ended up doing about four shots which left him surprisingly sober. Beside him, Etna set down a second, little glass on it's head, and told him she was going back out to dance some more.

"Which means you'll have to be the one paying for anything else you wanna drink," she added against his ear. He nodded, and laughed, trying to push her away, and then she was gone. Gone like nothing.

He sat there, calmly playing with one of the shot glasses, turning it by it's rim so that it wobbled too, and fro for a good while. He'd officially settled in, and was starting to decide that this wouldn't be so bad after all when hands came sliding over his shoulders, onto his chest.

"Aren't you supposed to be dancing?" he asked.

"Not when someone's playing hard to get," a voice that was distinctly not Etna's responded.

He stiffened, and tried to lurch out of the woman's grip.

"Shush," she whispered. "We only want to have a little fun." She turned him around, and he saw that she was the same girl. Very pretty, had nice hair, and probably would have looked killer in her dress if he hadn't wanted to be anywhere else.

"We?" he asked, voice cracking.

Then he was being dragged end over end away from his seat. He realized with a number of panicked thoughts that they were headed for the bathroom. She shoved him against one of the walls outside the women's, and kissed him.

His hands caught on her body, trying desperately to get purchase, to turn the situation without hurting her. His brain felt like it was filling up with water,

"Don't you want to be a good boy?" Yasurl asked. His stomach pitched again, and he almost lost his dinner trying to tell her to stop.

"Sshh. It's fun," the woman said. Her face was swimming between the one that belonged on her body, and his aunts.

His knee came up of it's own volition, sending his foot out into her hip. She fell forward, feet skidding out behind her, and he dashed for the emergency exit.

It was cold outside, and his jacket was at home. His boots hit hard on the concrete as he ran. one step after another. He tried not to think about where he was going. Tried to think only about the air in his face.

He could still hear Yasurl in is head when he thundered into Flonne's driveway.

He didn't have a mind to even think about throwing pebbles this time, and so when he came tumbling through the window, it was really no wonder that she screamed.

* * *

Her hands were on his shoulders when he started vomiting from the stress.

"I'll call Etna," she told him when he raised his had out of the toilet, and braced it against his hand. He stayed kneeling on the floor, and listened to the phone call in the other room.

"Hi, Etna, this is Flonne, Laharl's at my place."

"I think he ran here."

"I don't know why. He's puking though."

"Seemed like he was in a state of shock. He was freaking out when he fell through my window."

"He was afraid of me touching him."

Flonne cut off as her voice dipped lower, and he found himself unable to continue listening over the sound of his own sick.

He wanted to take a shower, and clean all the hands off his body, so he started stripping down. Flonne came back in just as his pants found their way to the floor, and maybe he hadn't thought this all the way through because there were little switch marks all up, and down his thighs, and calves, and shins.

She gasped, and he felt the intense heat of shame burn in his stomach. A thousand vicious things in his head screamed at him for being stupid, told him it was his fault.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He swallowed. "Yeah," he said, and tried to hold down more sick, when he said "It's just a- kinky sex thing."

Flonne looked skeptical.

* * *

It was the second night he'd spent in her bed. Her arms wound around his head again, and held him close to her chest almost the way his mother had used to.

"I'm sorry," he said, when the lights were out, and the cloth of her nightgown was soaking up the wet of his hair.

"Don't be," she said. "We're friends, and sometimes friends have to clean up their friends when they come tumbling through second story windows, and vomit everywhere."

"Jeez, I already said sorry."

She laughed lightly, and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead.

Maybe, Laharl was addicted to stealing things. Maybe the only way he knew how to enjoy another person was to steal from them. Like he stole kisses from people. That was two now. Two women he'd stolen kisses from. Both of whom were taken.

Flonne kissed back though. She kissed back, and he stopped feeling quite so dirty, because if anyone was able to clean away someone else's shame, it was her. She was an angel.

* * *

Flonne had been trying to hold it together for a week. The morning light falling through the cracks in the curtains made that seem like the same washed up shit that everything else in the world was made from. Laharl was warm in her arms, breath hitting her chest in little waves of hot, and cold, and that was probably the only thing keeping her sane right then.

He stirred gently, and held tighter onto her waist, but didn't bother to wake up. That was probably a good thing. She felt kind of bad worrying so much about herself when he showed up panicked, and covered in bruises in the middle of the night, and tumbled through her window.

Lamington had been put up for examination though. Someone was throwing around rumors of sexual misconduct. The nasty part of her brain blamed Ozone. It screamed, and it wailed that it was all her. O was spiteful after all. She was like an angry house cat. The last creature that should have come from her family.

Of course then her project had to go, and become more than a project to add onto the whole pile of shit that was everything.

"Kinky sex thing," he'd said last night when she'd seen the bruises on his legs. They looked like the bruises he'd gotten on his wrists for mouthing off to the nuns all his first week at school before they gave up trying to set him right.

She knew switch marks. A life time worth of traditional Catholic schooling had set that knowledge in her bones. And she knew shame, embarrassment only worse. It had been all over his face when she looked him in the eye.

"Kinky sex thing." He'd been lying through his teeth. She had seen the sweat on his upper lip, and on his forehead. Lying. She wasn't very good at it either.

She remembered Etna standing in her drive way, asking questions about Laharl's aunt. Yasurl had been the name everyone was whispering. Laharl was living with her, and Etna had bad feelings about her.

Aunt. Kinky sex thing.

Laharl had fallen almost face first onto the floor, legs catching on the window seat, and hands catching on the rug, yammering on about how he couldn't touch girls because there were all these thoughts in his head, and all those 'yassas'. She'd thought that was just a nonsense slur because he was drunk.

His aunt was named Yasurl.

Aunt. Kinky sex thing. "Unable to touch girls because all to those Yasurls."

She swallowed, and held tighter around the crown of his head. There was something he wasn't telling her. Something he clearly didn't want to. His hair smelled like her shampoo, and she'd been spending all her time wondering weather or not she would be able to hold hands with the Dean of their school anymore when Laharl was out somewhere fighting some crazy woman for his life.

She felt so shameful. How self absorbed could she have been?

His fingers pressed into the small of her back.

How many months had it been, she wondered, since this boy had lost his mom. And then how cruel was it for his dad to have vanished like he did? It had been in the newspapers. Everyone knew about it. There had been whispers at school.

Laharl wasn't a boy anymore, she realized. He was an orphan. Orphans didn't have time to be children. She wanted to hide him away then. To make sure that no matter what, he'd have someone.


	9. And There I Will Be Buried

A/N: This chapter is a bit short, so sorry about that. It's on schedule though, so I can at least be proud of that. Once again warnings for implications of abuse. Let's just have that be a blanket statement for the rest of this fic, actually.

* * *

Etna picked him up from Flonne's at nine.

"You wanna tell me about it?" she asked when they were stopped at a red light down town.

"No."

"So," she said, drawing out the vowel. "You're not gonna tell me why you ran like two miles from a club down town," her hand swept across to indicate the tall buildings just beyond the windshield, "to an upper middle class housing project?"

"I got bored."

Etna slammed on the brakes halfway through the intersection despite the light having turned green.

"Bored?" she roared at the steering wheel. "Bored?!" He unbuckled his seatbelt, and tried to get out the door, but her finger was pressed to the lock button. Cars were beeping. People were yelling. "Are you fucking kidding me, Laharl? You got bored?"

He nodded, and refused to look at her.

"Oh well yeah! Yep! Sorry. I forgot you were your father's son. Always fucking running out without an explanation!"

"There was this chick," he said softly. She stopped, relaxing back into her seat, and continuing to ignore the people yelling at her. "She wouldn't leave me alone. I freaked out."

"Why?"

"Can we just fucking go now?" he asked. He could see a man walking up behind them in her rearview mirror. Etna smiled, and stepped on the gas the minute the guy put his hands down on her spoiler.

"You fuckin' bitch!" they heard screamed after them.

"Why?"

He put his head in his hands, and drew his legs up into his chest. "I really don't want to talk about it," he said to his knees. He could feel Etna's eyes on him, and the way his toes were tense in his boots.

"You should put your seatbelt back on," she said after a moment of silence.

* * *

Kira was waiting for him in the den when he opened the door.

"You're late."

"I know."

"You blew your curfew."

"I know."

"Mom will punish you."

"You are the creepiest fucking nine year old I've ever met, you know that?" he asked. Kira kicked his little feet against the footrest of the recliner he was sitting in.

"I'm not wrong though," the boy replied in that haunting tone he so often employed. Laharl sneered at him, turning away towards the stairs. He was hoping he could get into his room before Yasurl caught him, but of course, he was the most unlucky person ever.

He remembered something his mother had once taught him about how in northern myths people's names were made up of different runes all of which had strong meanings. She'd written his name out in those runes, and told him what each symbol meant. One of them had been for luck. It must have been ironic, he thought. Or maybe by luck she meant the bad kind.

Yasurl's hand was on the railing, gripping it hard as she leaned over it so her cleavage was bared. She looked like some knock off Elvira. A tawdry rendition of a classic with the details all switched around. The devil was in the details, and so was Yasurl.

"I'm sure you noticed your tardiness as well." She was almost singing. He could picture her in an opera house with the spotlight on her as she gleefully delivered her spiteful lines. The worst part was he got the feeling the he wasn't even the main character in whatever opera this was.

"No. I could have sworn it was eight pm just three minutes ago."

"Don't give me lip boy."

He almost swallowed his tongue. She was coming down the stairs. She was coming down the stairs, bouncing with every step she took, and he could almost see the monstrous wings behind her, the tail that should have been wiping around her legs.

"You give me lip, and you'll pay for it. You know that."

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth.

"And yet you continue to do it," she said. "Why is that, I wonder."

He wanted to do something. He wanted to turn, and run, or maybe he wanted to deck her in the face. He wasn't sure. Either way, he wasn't doing it. He was frozen in place, his neck felt exposed because he'd forgotten his scarf at home, and there was a thin sheen of sweat accumulating on the small of his back.

She reached the bottom of the stairs, and one of her hands came out to clutch his jaw, tilting his head up so that he looked her in the eye, holding him there so that he couldn't look away. "Go play with your sister, Kira," Yasurl said.

Kira made a sound of disappointment, and Laharl heard him take a breath to argue, but Yasurl's face contorted into a snarl, and she bit, "What did I say?" Kira's feet pitter pattered away, and Laharl felt the dread of being alone with her start to seep into his bones.

"Come along," she said sweetly, leading him by his chin up the stairs. "Don't you want to be a good boy, Laharl?"

It was likely the last thing he wanted. The door of her bedroom loomed into view at the end of the hall, angry and foreboding. It closed behind him with a decisive click.

* * *

"What do you mean you don't want to tag the school building?"

Laharl sighed. "I can't leave the house or my aunt will get pissed."

"Dude you never cared about your dad getting pissed."

"This is different."

"How?"

Laharl's grip tightened on the phone. "I don't want to talk about it." It felt like the hundredth time he'd said that in the last two weeks. The hundredth time.

"I'm your best fucking friend!" Mao said indignantly.

"Yeah, and sometimes there are things I just don't wanna fucking talk about! Can I have that, Mao? I mean I know that there are things you tell Beryl that I don't know about, and you don't see me gettin' all up on your shit because of it so fuck off!"

"Are you okay?" Mao asked quietly. That's when Laharl knew it was serious, because Mao was never quiet unless something had gone terribly wrong, or he was thinking really hard. And when Mao thought really hard it usually meant things were about to go terribly wrong.

"Yeah," he lied. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just not having the best day."

"Okay, man."

"Okay," he said. Mao gave a forced chuckle on the other end of the line. "I'm gonna go, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

He put the phone on the guest bedroom's little desk, and leaned over it to stare at it's little blank face. He could feel the roots of his hair going white underneath all the dye. He'd have to re-do it soon or it would start growing in black. A terrified little part of him wondered if Yasurl would let him continue to dye it.

He decided that if it was punishment for his supposed inability to negotiate with terrorists he would take it. He'd lost near everything already. Mao had liked to sing the firefly theme song sometimes when he bunked on Laharl's couch to get away from his dad back in the day.

It felt accurate. He felt like Job living beneath some crueler rendition of god. That would have made Flonne laugh. She always told him he had a flare for the dramatic. He sat down on the little bed, and wound his arms around his legs to think.

He'd been thinking far too much lately.

* * *

Laharl had been this way for two weeks. Mao lit another cigarette, and adjusted his position in the window of his bedroom. Two weeks of weird phone calls, and Almaz telling him Etna was asking questions.

Mao rested his chin in his hand, and looked out through the front yard to the street where a woman was walking her dog. It was weird. Laharl was in some sort of bind, and Beryl was being her usual self, which meant she'd stepped out of the picture again.

He just hoped his dad didn't go off at a time like this. That would make Almaz is only resource. Mao had to do something. He turned inside, and hopped down onto the floor, grabbing a comic off his shelf. The Question was a good resource. Never let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

* * *

Yasurl was singing in the parlor when Etna called him, and the whole world narrowed down to a pigeon hole.

"A body?"

She was crying. She didn't want to show it, but he could hear it in the slight warble of her voice. Laharl looked to the door, and turned away from it, cupping his hand over his mouth. One never knew when child ears were listening through solid wood.

"Etna you need to get me out of here."

"Why?" she asked.

"I know my family. I know them, and if they found a body, the reason these people want to keep me is to get what they think is rightfully theirs, and Etna, that means I am going to die."

There was a silence on the other end of the line followed by a soft, "No."

Laharl's teeth grit together hard, and he felt his arms start to shake. Fear, and indignation. They were emotions that he knew well. They tended to accompany Yasurl no matter where she went.

"Yes, Etna."

"Your family can't be that crazy."

"Are you fucking shitting me? These people are fucking hillbilly descendants from out in the fucking plains. Just because they've modernized, and moved up the social ladder doesn't mean they're not that same bug fuck crazy they were before."

"You're overreacting."

"I am not overreacting. Yasurl sees me as a living punching bag. Vesuvius likes to parade around in tiny pink underpants, and show off his ass in front of me, and the children are both homicidal maniacs. Do not tell me I am overreacting."

"You're just mad because you're fifteen, and everything's falling apart."

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Don't make me say I told you so, Etna."

he heard her hiss inwardly on the other end of the line. "I think your dad has a shit ton of law books in his study."

"Kind of to be expected from a CEO."

* * *

Laharl got called up to the dean's office during math class the following day which was half a relief because math was probably some cruel Chinese torture method, but also half terrifying, because he had kissed the dean's girlfriend.

"I heard the news," Lamington said calmly.

"What news?"

Laharl was fixed with a look that told him he wasn't going to get away with those sorts of lies. Lamington probably realized he was as terrifying as he was too, which was worrisome. Laharl swallowed hard.

"It's just there seems to be a lot of news in my life at the moment, so I'm not exactly sure what it is you're referencing."

Lamington shifted slightly in his chair so that he gave the impression of being more relaxed. "I was referencing the body I was asked to I.D."

Laharl felt a sinking dread rise up in his stomach. He looked down hurriedly to fix his eyes on the front panel of the giant oak desk between them. It was quite nice for a man who lived beneath a vow of poverty.

"It was a gift," Lamington said as if reading his mind. "I'm sad to inform you that it was indeed your father."

Laharl pressed his lips together in a thin line.

"I was of course left with instructions."

"What sort of instructions?"

"In the even of your father's death, I am to assume custody of you."

"Why?"

"Your father, and I were good friends. He trusted me implicitly, and I would say I returned the same trust to him."

"Were you two bumping uglies?"

Lamington's face broke into a smile that probably only could have been described as beatific, and he let loose a laugh that sounded like tinkling bells. Laharl wanted to vomit.

"No. We were simply very good friends. We went to college together."

"For some reason it's hard to imagine you doing keg stands with my old man."

"It wasn't nearly like that."

"So you did do some weird experimenting."

"No. Why are you so fixated on that?"

"Because that may mean I third hand kissed my father."

Lamington's face was priceless.

"Regardless," the man went on to say after a moment of deafening silence. "I will not be allowed to heed his requests until his will has been read, and so I am attempting to move it along."

"I guess that's good."

"Listen, Laharl," Lamington said sternly, leaning forward just a bit to put emphasis in his words. "I understand quite intimately the sort of situation you are now in."

Laharl felt the angry stubbornness inside of him rear it's ugly head, and bare it's teeth. "No," he said, thinking about Yasurl's hands on his chin, and the switches she beat against his legs. Thinking of how it felt to be held down. "I don't think you do."

Lamington sat back in his chair, and took a moment to seriously consider him. Laharl felt dirty, and disgusted. The loathing in his gut twisted and turned, and he tried to hide it, but he couldn't.

"Perhaps then I don't understand all of it."

Laharl didn't say anything to that. He didn't need to speak to confirm the man's statement. There was no way he could know without being told in obscene detail about everything that had happened in that house, and if he wanted that, he would have to go to someone other than Laharl.

* * *

"Dead men tell no tales." When Laharl had been little, his mother had taken him to Disneyland a few times, and the Pirates of the Caribbean had been her favorite ride. They had gone through it about a hundred times, his hand caught in hers as he looked reverently at the plastic figures.

Now he was the dead man, and he understood what it had meant. Or maybe what it hadn't meant to mean. Words got caught up in his esophagus, and were closed down upon, forced into the bronchioles deep in the bottom corners of his lungs, and bound there.

Etna was just a silence in the driver's seat of the car, and the world was crushing in like every little thing that had happened was happening all over in fast forward. He swallowed, and listened to her shift.

"I need to know."

"I can't."

He hated how weak he sounded. Hated the fact that Yasurl could have such power over him, could strip him of so much. The things he liked to do. The jokes he found funny. It was all gone now. Now it was just shit piled on top of more shit, and he was starting to drown in it.

"I need to know, Laharl."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried not to let the words in his head become real. He reached down, and rolled up the cuff of his pant leg to show her the bruises. They were layered over each other now like a haphazard mosaic of broken blood vessels, and they made it hard to walk or sit. They made him hurt from his hips all the way down to his ankles.

Etna was so quiet he felt like the place where she sat was actively eating the sound in the car. Then her hands were reaching out, and she was pulling him close by his shoulders. His head fit beneath her chin the way it once had with his mother, and suddenly everything felt heavy. Too heavy.

He hadn't cried in years. Not since his parents' marriage had begun to fail. Not since they'd packed their bags, and moved out. Now his mother was gone, and three months later so was his father, and Yasurl's claws were in him so deep he felt broken. The world was moving too fast, and yet not fast enough, and for a little while it felt safe to pretend that the ghost of his mother was in Etna. That there was still some little tie between him, and her.

Etna's manicured nails scratched gently against his scalp, and he breathed deep to try, and push past all the water on his face.

* * *

A/N: Now I've come to a cross roads, and I'm not sure if I should have Laharl put his faith in Lamington, or Etna.


	10. Out Of The Midst Of The Fire

A/N: Thank you guys for staying on with me as long as you have. I can tell there are more than a couple repeat readers, and it means a lot. Sorry this chapter is a bit late, but I had to make sure I knew where I was going before I went so it got written out in a few different ways before finally getting finished. Warnings for violent fantasies, abuse, and Mao generally being Mao.

* * *

Laharl woke up drenched in a cold sweat with the sheets sticking to his body like an oppressive second layer of skin. He tried to breathe deeply in order to abate his panic, but his mind only told him that there wasn't enough air in the room.

There had been a river, the water a dirty brown so that it had hidden the bottom. When he'd looked into it he'd only seen his own face, so he had looked closer, wading into the water. Slowly they'd risen to the surface. Lifeless bodies. His mother, and his father. Flonne, and Etna. Lamington. He could see Mao fighting, and clawing at Kira down stream, but loosing. And when he'd looked up, she'd been there, laughing silently with her husband at her side.

He tried to swallow the bile rising in his throat but didn't manage. It ended up splattered all over the floor. Last night's dinner of pilfered beer, and rice. He groaned, and braced an arm against the night stand, so he was leaning half way out of the bed.

The second wave came like hell eating up the inside of his throat, and splashed onto the hardwood with a wet thunking sound. He hated being sick. He hated the feeling of lacking control. Especially when he was currently in the hands of a woman who would gladly use his weakness against him.

His mouth opened so that he could attempt to breathe, but more vomit came rushing out. He was starting to feel dizzy. He could feel it dripping out of his nose. Finally, when it was turning clear, and yellow, the torrent let up, and he gasped, spitting to try to rid his mouth of the taste.

Someone was giggling from the doorway. He looked up, bleary eyed from sleep and sick to see Shas.

"Don't puke up the important bits, okay?" she said happily, before turning, and bolting out the door screaming for her mother.

He groaned, and tried to stand up without stepping in his dinner. It proved harder than expected when he slipped, and fell, feet tangling in the vomit. He heard Yasurl before he saw her. Her feet hit against the flood with the hard clicks of a woman already wearing high heels at an ungodly hour in the morning.

"Shas tells me you're sick," she said as her toes came into his line of sight. As if to answer her, another wave of vomit pushed up, and passed his lips. Yasurl made a sound of disgust as Shas giggled uncontrollably.

"I'll have Vesuvius take care of you today. I have an important meeting at the office."

He curled onto his side with a groan instead of replying. Yasurl turned on her toe, and retreated the way she'd come with a harsh, "Don't touch him, Shas."

Of course, her mother's warnings didn't seem to stop her, from leaning down, and grabbing him by his hair.

"Is it because I put rat poison in your food?" she asked gently.

Laharl was pretty sure he was going to die without medical treatment if Shas was being straight with him. "You know what?" he asked. "I cannot possibly think of another thing that would do this to a person, so I'm gonna have to go with 'yeah'."

"Oh! So I shouldn't do that anymore?"

"Shas, if it has poison in the name, people are not supposed to eat it."

* * *

"You have food poisoning," Vesuvius said when he sat down next to him on the couch later that day. He was almost glad to see his uncle for once as he was getting royally sick of the wiggles, but was still too out of it to wrestle the remote out of his idiot cousin's hands.

"So Shas didn't feed me rat poison?"

"Laharl, the first effects of rat poison are hemorrhaging, and most of the time effects don't kick in for a while. You can't believe everything a child tells you."

Laharl grunted, and tried to ignore the man's biceps bumping up against his side as he grabbed the remote out of Shas' greedy little hands, and flipped over to the news. More school shootings. A rape that had been broadcast over a number of social media outlets. He groaned.

"Can we watch something that isn't either mind numbing, or telling everyone about how we'll die the minute we leave the house?"

"I can't think of anything that doesn't fall under one of those categories," Vesuvius sing songed, leaning forward to read the text scrolling along the bottom of the screen. They were a musical family apparently. Laharl was embarrassed to be related to them.

* * *

Mao broke into his room at about eight o'clock, and woke him up with a hand over his mouth. That was how Laharl made the discovery that backlit in the dark with his glasses all fogged up, Mao looked like a demented barn owl that liked to eat people.

In fact, Mao looked so murderous, that Laharl clocked him in the face before he had fully processed what was going on, and was able to control his muscle movements. Lucky for Mao he was feeling better or the other boy might have gotten covered in the chicken broth Shas had "made" him. It couldn't really be called making if she only took enough effort to open the can, and drop it in his hands.

Mao of course retaliated by shoving his knuckles up Laharl's nose. Laharl made a 'guck' sound as his head bounced off the headboard.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked, holding his face with both his hands to defend against possible attacks to follow.

"I've tapped the phone lines, and bugged the house," Mao whispered emphatically. "They're trying to kill you!"

"I know that, you idiot!" Laharl hissed back.

"I don't care what you know! I'm here to rescue your ass!"

Laharl's hands fell away from his nose. He was thinking about Lamington, and Etna. There were two people already on this case.

"I'm not Harley Quinn, Batman, I can take care of the Joker myself," he said harshly. Mao blew air at his bleached out bangs, making them flutter up, and down dramatically.

"I know you little piece of shit, but sometimes Nightwing still needs to get his ass saved even after he leaves the nest, so come on before Two Face gets you?"

"You make me sound like the biggest fucking dork sometimes," Laharl said with a sigh. "Look, Mao. I don't know about this. I've got two completely legal means of getting myself out of this situation. People might take me seriously. I could get a lot of money from suing them."

"Your family members are trying to kill you, and you're thinking about money?"

"I wear my green, and silver same as you."

"And there you go sounding like a massive dork again. Come the fuck with me right now, Laharl. We're the overlords, we've gotta stick together. If we don't we'll be divided enough for the rest of the vultures out there to conquer our unprotected asses. We need to stay in each other's corners."

That was a metaphor Laharl was truly able to relate to. "We are," he said. "That's not even a question, man. But right now you're not the only person in my corner, and it's really a problem I'd like to face alone."

"Right, cool," Mao said, before picking up the lamp on Laharl's bedside table, and hitting him over the head with it.

* * *

Laharl woke up on the concrete floor of Mao's living room with Beryl standing over him.

"What are you gonna do with him?" she asked.

"Nothing I haven't done before," was the response she got from Mao who was currently out of his line of sight. Honestly, it felt like the opening cut scene to one of those action video games. Especially because Laharl was tied up, and couldn't properly move his head to look around.

"Mao, goddammit, I told you I had everything under control!" He yelled, trying to struggle.

"Don't make me use the chloroform. Not that I don't want to use the chloroform. Took a hell of a lot of effort to make it. Just that you don't want me to use the chloroform."

Mao came into view holding a buck knife. It swayed menacingly between his fore, and middle fingers, and Laharl really didn't think he had any business being on the business end of that.

"If I untie you, are you gonna kick me in the liver?" he asked.

Laharl spit at his feet. It made Beryl giggle, and shove her toes into his backside. "I don't understand why the fuck you two get off on tying up your friends, but I'm not having any of this. I am not Almaz!"

"Calm down, Jesus. You'll wake the neighbors," Mao said, kneeling down, and sawing through the rope on Laharl's wrists. "Now take this," he added, handing him a plastic bag.

It was full to the brim with scrambled eggs. Laharl took a moment to marvel at the nonsensical nature of it all.

"You'd better appreciate those too. I stayed up until like five in the morning cooking those."

"Why?"

"I know you hate eggs."

Beryl was laughing her ass off, and given the dorky smile Mao was giving her, this must have been some inside joke. He set the eggs down on the floor, and went to work untying his ankles.

"Do you wanna play some video games?" Mao asked.

"No. I need to get back."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"It's Stockholm Syndrome," Beryl said.

"It's not Stockholm," Laharl snapped. "I hate her, but it's better that I stay on her good side."

"Why? What will she do to you if you're on her bad side?"

"I've told you a million times, Mao!" Her hands were clawing up his back, taking hold of his hair, and dragging him down by it. "I don't wanna fucking talk about it!"

The door slammed shut behind him.

"You didn't even take your eggs!" he heard yelled after him as he started the long trek back to the nightmare house.

* * *

She opened the door just before he could. Her hair wasn't even a mess. She looked exactly the way she did going to work in the mornings, only now all she was wearing was thin, satin lingerie.

Her claws caught him across the cheek, leaving behind angry, red welts before he could even open his mouth to explain. Probably better she didn't give him the chance to try. The punishment for lying tended to involve putting his mouth to "better use".

"Sick my ass," she said, grabbing him by his scarf, and hauling him back inside. "Little liar!"

"I wasn't lying," he tried dejectedly.

"Keep digging your grave, Let's see how deep you can get." She used the momentum of their march to sling him down onto the couch. "Liars need to put their mouths to good use," she hissed, her hands slamming on either side of his head so that he was fenced in.

He felt like he was living one travesty after another, able to see the horrors to come, but unable to stop them.

"Don't you want to be a good boy, Laharl?"

That one sentence would keep him up years after he'd killed her, and chopped her body into tiny bits. He swallowed more puke that had nothing to do with any kind of poisoning, and gagged on his own throat, but it didn't help in the end.

He should have stayed with Mao. He could have lived underneath Mao's bed, and pretended he didn't exist until he withered away. Her hands were clawing up his back, taking hold of his hair, and dragging him down by it. He tried to ignore the taste of the switch slammed against his teeth.

* * *

School seemed for the first time in his life like a good thing. It was a legitimate, and inexcusable reason to leave her, and run away from the horrors that were Vesuvius being a stay at home dad, and listening to homeschooling lessons.

He never wanted to be too sick to leave that place ever again. Flonne's hand was warm on his knee as he took a drag from his cigarette, and continued to complain about his dad being dead beat enough to die on him. She looked concerned, which he didn't understand, but could accept.

He'd had no love for his father really. He was just mad about being left to the rest of his crazy family, and honestly he wanted to blame someone. His dad just happened to be easy because he'd been the scapegoat for everything since his parents' divorce.

"I wish I didn't have to go back tonight," he said, blowing smoke at the ceiling. The sink of the boys bathroom was cold against his ass, but he didn't much care. He spent an awful lot of time sitting in sinks in public restrooms.

"You could stay at my house," Flonne suggested.

"Nah. Last couple times I stayed out there was hell to pay." He really tried not to think about which hell. The ninth layer, his brain kept chanting. The pit. Last stop for eternal suffering.

Flonne made a pouty face, and leaned into his legs. "Maybe you could ask her this time. Like a good boy."

The urge to vomit was almost as bad as it had been yesterday morning. No. The last thing he wanted to be was a good boy.

"What could a call hurt?" she asked as he started shaking his head.

Everything. She was crazy. No one really knew crazy until they were being held down underneath it unable to get away. No one really knew crazy until it was ruling their life. Flonne had no possible way of comprehending. Unless he told. That little, annoying voice in the back of his head that wanted to let it all slip reminded him about that every time it came up. He could have people understand if he could just grow the balls to open his mouth, and upchuck the words.

He thought about the bruises, and the fact that he was likely to die at Yasurl's hands, and he realized he did need to make a phone call. He needed to make a call to Mao. He needed to get Mao's information, and he needed to plan ahead.

"Yeah," he said softly. "No foul no harm."

Flonne was positively beaming.

* * *

"Group project," he said. Yasurl sighed angrily on the other end of the line. "It would look weird if I didn't go."

"I know that, you brat," she snapped back.

"I'm just going to spend the night because I don't want to bother you to pick me up. It'll be late when we're done."

"Fine. Just go." she said. "But I find out you're out partying or something-"

"I know," he cut off. Because he did. He knew all to well. He could still taste the end of the switch as it pushed into his teeth.

"Good boy," she said. It left a bad taste in his mouth when she hung up.

* * *

Mao was of course late. He showed up in Beryl's pink bug, and waved at her while she blew him a kiss, and drove away.

"Are you gonna stand for that?" Laharl asked as Mao actually turned to the door.

"I guess," Mao said. "She's kinda my girlf-"

"Were you about to say girlfriend, Mao?"

Mao's eyes went saucer wide, and his grip on the little box under his arm shifted nervously. "Yeah well-"

"Well what? Spit it the fuck out, man. Are you guys being all love-y now, or something?"

"No- It's just- She bought a plug suit," Mao hissed under his breath, leaning in so that he was whispering at Laharl's nose.

"A what?"

"She cosplayed as Rei, okay?"

"Who cosplayed as Rei?" Flonne cried gleefully from behind Laharl. "Can I see? Was it cute? I bet it was cute!"

"Well sorta," Mao said in a way that Laharl knew meant he was trying to hide the fact that something weird and sexual had gone on.

"Let's get this over with so you guys can talk about stupid anime, and leave me out of it," Laharl said, turning around, and stepping back over the threshold.

"Mom," Flonne called into the kitchen, "We're going to my room."

"Okay, honey, have fun!" was called back through the open door. Laharl could smell food in the oven. It reminded him of home. Real home. Of talking to his mother while she cooked, and he wondered for a moment who was living in that empty house now.

Mao set himself up on the carpet in Flonne's bedroom, reminding everyone that despite his size, he still remained quite collapsable. Like the endless amounts of equipment he was pulling out of his little box. Wires, and wires.

"This is a recording device," he said, setting down a little plastic object about the size of his thumb.

"Like spies use?" Flonne asked.

"Is she really with you?"

Laharl waved a hand in Mao's general direction. "You met her on fight night remember?"

Mao squinted at her again, and shrugged. "I hid it in your aunt's study about a week back, and I caught some pretty juicy shit," Mao said, continuing from where he left off.

"Like what?"

"Like they're planning on staging it as a hit and run after the will is read. Like the next day, man."

"So all I need to do is postpone the will reading until I'm ready to bail the fuck out before they can touch me," Laharl said.

"Sounds cash. Only thing is you've gotta make sure they don't catch on. This lady seems like the type to keep contingency plans. I know because I'm the type."

"Takes one to know one."

Mao nodded with a savage grin. "Exactly."

* * *

They got about of hour of plotting in before Flonne's mother called for dinner. Flonne's sister was already sitting at the table looking dejected. All Laharl could really remember about her was the fact that she had some hippy name. It made him feel kind of bad as he settled into the seat next to her.

She moved to make a bit of room for him. Mao pulled up the chair on the other side of her, and Laharl noticed her leaning stiffly against the back of her seat. Like their presence made her uncomfortable. He figured that would be normal for a girl from a conservative family who was suddenly surrounded by older boys wearing dye in their hair, and dressed like they'd probably just come from a street fight.

She was eyeing the tattoo on his knuckles surreptitiously which made him anxious. He tried to shake off the feeling by rapping his fingers on the table top but that didn't do much other than make Flonne glare at the two of them.

"Shall we say grace?" Flonne's mother asked from the end of the table. The entire family held up their hands, and closed their eyes. There was left a split second for Laharl, and Mao to look at each other across the girl between them before they took deep breaths, and tried to follow suit.

Laharl ended up uncomfortably holding hands with Flonne's sister, and father, head bent over his mashed potatoes, eyes open, and looking nervously around the table at the thoughtful faces. He looked to his right, and caught the girl's eye.

She seemed to be in the same position, and the sudden moment of understanding between them, made her start to laugh softly. He smiled, and tried not to reciprocate, knowing that it would jostle the other hand he was holding. Mao made an odd noise right as the whole family said "Amen" in unison, and started to eat.

It was like a well oiled machine. Watching it made Laharl uncomfortable.

"How was school today, Ozone," Flonne's mother asked Flonne's sister. The first thing Laharl thought was, hippy name. Though in reality it's not like he had much room to talk about unusual names being as he was named after a volcanic god, and a natural disaster in one breath.

"Same as always," Ozone said.

Laharl took a huge bite of mashed potatoes, and found himself face to face with the Virgin Mary. Mao made a sound of similar discontent. Ozone laughed quietly again. Flonne's glare only deepened.

"And you, Dear?"

"I had a wonderful day, Darling," Flonne's father said happily. Laharl realized with the same discomfort that he realized he was eating off a biblical figure's face, that they were likely a "Jim Dear," and "Darling" couple. No first names allowed.

He wondered how the vows had sounded at the wedding. "And you are never to not call me by a ridiculous nickname. Honey bun will do."

"My boss called me into the office. He's talking about a raise. Honestly, I'm very excited. Though it will put us into the next tax bracket."

"That sounds wonderful, Dear. How about you Flonne?"

"Well, I wouldn't say it was the best day," Flonne said somewhat morosely, which caught Laharl off guard. He had expected from the previous conversation that they were a fake it till you make it kind of family. Honesty seemed out of place. Even more out of his expectations was that both of her parents seemed to have a caring, and accepting response.

It was like the conversations he'd had with his mother. Open, and interested. They genuinely wanted to know about her concerns. He felt kind of bad about judging them nutso for naming their kid after a layer of the atmosphere, and eating off the holy Virgin's face.

"Lamington's still under investigation." Laharl felt Ozone snort beside him. "Though I really don't know why. He's never done anything wrong. I've been praying for him, but honestly, it doesn't seem to be of any help for anyone but me. I wonder if God is testing him in some way. Perhaps this is something he needs to work through on his own. I simply hope that his good soul carries him through such adversity,"

"We can help you pray if that makes you feel better about it," her mother said, clasping one of her hands gently. Laharl looked at Mao who seemed just as baffled. Which Laharl supposed was normal. Mao had shit parents. His father never paid him any mind unless he was yelling, and his mother never talked even if she was home.

There was probably a bit of shock that came along with realizing that some people had it better. Mao had known Laharl's mother was caring. He'd seen it a couple of times honestly, but that had been along with all the shitty things. They'd been in the same boat in different ways.

"I'm sure he'll make it through," her father said. "Lamington's been through a lot of trying times before."

"Yeah, he went to college with my dad," Laharl said derisively.

"Did he?" her father asked.

"Um- yes- sir?" the formality felt odd in his mouth to the point where he heard Mao laugh at him.

"Please, call me Telle."

"And call me Elle," Flonne's mother threw in from the other side of the table.

"Cool," he said to his mashed potatoes, trying to ignore the fact that they had matching names, because honestly that really pissed him off for no reason at all.

"So what do you like doing with your time, Laharl?" Telle asked.

"Well, I guess not much these days," he tried. Sounding boring usually got you ignored, and the truth of the matter was he didn't want to tell the massively Catholic, probably far too moral man in front of him that his hobbies included stealing candy bars from liquor stores, and tagging buildings, or along the more illegal lines getting into violent underground fight clubs.

"So you don't have any hobbies?"

"Well, I supposed I do Savate, and my father used to have me enrolled in fencing classes so I'm alright with that too."

"Oh really? That sounds very interesting. What is Savate?" he asked the question more toward his wife.

"Kickboxing," Mao said. "It's just special because it's French."

"Yeah, whatever. You watch cartoons, and they're just special cause they're japanese." Mao's hands braced on the table, and his chin jut, making Laharl laugh.

"So do you go to St Henrick's as well Mao?" Elle asked.

"No. I'm just an incredibly good resource. I go to Hillside."

"Oh, Honey, that's on the other side of town."

"That's quite interesting," Telle agreed. "How would you say it is over there?"

"How you would expect a public school to be. The students don't care. The teachers care even less. Standardized testing is all that really matters, and we've got shit scores on that which means our budget's in the shitter. I could go on for hours."

"It seems like you put an awful lot of thought into this."

"I haven't got much else to think about. These peas are really good."

Elle smiled, and preened a bit.

* * *

"My sister is such a strumpet sometimes," Flonne said when the door closed behind them.

"Why do you say that?" Laharl asked, sitting down by the bed.

"She was totally hitting on you!"

"Was she?"

"Yeah, dude she was totally hitting on you," Mao threw in.

"Ew why?"

"I don't know. She likes bad boys?" Mao suggested.

"If she liked bad boys wouldn't you be the one she was hitting on?"

"You're the one who's got the tattoo."

Laharl groaned. "Tell her I'm not interested. She's like twelve."

"Probably means she's tight, man," Mao said.

"Can we please get back to the actual important shit we're here to do?"

"Yeah."

* * *

The plan, Laharl assumed was good enough by the time Mao, and Flonne had been thoroughly bored to death by his need to bang out all the tiny little details. He laid back on the bed, and went over it again, and again in his head as the two of them mooned over her figurines.

That same poster of pretty boys surrounded by roses stared out at him. The blonde's smug face seemed like a mockery of the situation as he started to drop off to sleep.

* * *

He woke up with Flonne standing over him, golden hair falling into his face.

"Woah," he said, hands moving to find purchase in the clothes of her bed.

"Mao went home."

"Yeah."

"His girlfriend came to pick him up."

"Pink?"

"Very," she said with a smile.

He made a humming sound in the back of his throat, and rolled into a sitting position. "Sorry about sleeping."

"You're tired. That's okay."

"Thanks."

"Like I said last time. No big deal."

"Yeah. Still." She was smiling. She was smiling so wide, and it made him feel something. Something like he had felt with his mother. He looked for a word in his head, but couldn't find one.

"I'm just glad you're alright for now," she said, and he kissed her again. One more time because she was so close, and it was so easy, and it had been so nice the first time. She tasted like skin, and he thought about how romance novels lied, saying everyone had their own taste. Her hands felt good on his neck. It made him want to smile, so he did. He smiled as she slid into his lap, and she smiled back.


	11. They Had The Likeness Of Man

A/N: I really wish I could get these chapters done, and up faster, but they end up taking time more often than not, and the longer I write, the longer they seem to take. This should stop being so much of a problem next week when I've got my weekends back.

Also, warnings for the usual: abuse, sexual content- plus a few new ones like mental disorders that may not be handled correctly (and if you think I could be dealing with them better please tell me I love constructive criticism) and creepy ninja children.

* * *

Sex was like being held. Flonne was soft, and sweet, and everything that he'd never actually understood in his life. She laughed softly against his neck, and held onto his back with her eyes catching the light from her desk lamp.

It was nothing like it had been with Etna. Her words weren't harsh, or joking. Everything was sincere, and open. She whispered encouragement, and wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him in closer.

The condom was something foreign. Etna hadn't made him wear one, and he hadn't thought about it until Flonne had rolled it over him one handed. Like she'd practiced that a million times. It was sort of a worrisome thought that there hadn't been a condom with Etna actually, but he didn't have time with dwell on it when she was biting at his skin, and giggling softly.

That really was the best part. He liked the little smiles he got in between noises, and bit lips. He'd liked them when he was with Etna too. The idea that he could make them happy. It kept him focused on her. She was here, and he was surrounded in her smell, and her sounds, far away from his aunt. For the first time in four weeks he felt actually safe, and it was all Flonne.

She stretched into him, body tightening, and moaned hard, saying his name under her breath so her parents wouldn't hear, and he forgot to think much at all, the entirety of his mind zeroing in on the places their bodies met.

* * *

She woke him up with coffee. He blinked blankly at that as she sat on the edge of the bed with her own mug.

"Etna told me you like yours with milk, and like half a cup of sugar."

"Did you text her about this?"

"Yeah. I wanted to be sure I got it right."

"Why?"

She smiled, and shrugged. "Lamington likes to have coffee in the morning. I just thought it would be nice for you."

"Thanks," he said quietly, taking a sip. That wasn't sugar. It was salt. He tried not to make too much of a face at the taste as he set it on her nightstand. "So how's stuff?" he asked.

She giggled happily into her drink. "Good. Are you always this awkward?"

"I don't know," He said, running a hand through his hair, and looking at the poster guy's smug little face again. "Maybe. Probably."

"It's okay. Most guys aren't very good at stuff like this." Her fingers were laced with her toes which was the most weirdly cute thing he'd ever seen. He resented that thought as she rested her mug on her knee.

"Thank you," she said softly. Her smile was also soft. Just like everything about her. She was probably way too pure to actually exist in a world where Yasurl did.

"For what?"

"Last night."

"What? Why?"

"It was nice. I like you, and I like being close to you, so it was really nice."

He was probably blushing which was the most embarrassing thing ever.

"My mom's making breakfast if you want any."

"Sure," he said. He was hungry, and caffeine didn't exactly go well with an empty stomach.

"You'll have to put pants on first though."

He was definitely blushing.

* * *

Ozone glared at Flonne all the way through waffles, and hard boiled eggs. Honestly, with how well Elle cooked, it was a bit of a miracle that Flonne could fuck up a cup of coffee so bad as she had.

He said goodbye at roughly eight, and caught a buss home. Home to Yasurl's where everything sucked the air out of his lungs. Kira was sitting on the floor in the den having an argument with Shas who was hiding behind the couch just out of sight.

"You have to come out at some point," he was hissing angrily.

Laharl couldn't hear her response, but Kira clearly could seeing as he screamed "Fine!", and stomped away. Laharl sighed heavily, and went to see if Shas was okay. There was nothing behind the couch. Nothing at all, and he took a moment to wonder how she'd managed to run away so quickly. He peered over the arm after Kira before shrugging. They were weird kids. Maybe Kira had any imaginary friend that was also named Shas.

That didn't seem right, but he ignored it.

"Where's your mom?" He asked, walking after Kira into the kitchen.

"She went to work about an hour ago," Shas' high voice sang from the bar. She was seated on one of the high stools with her legs swinging in the air.

"Cool. Where's your dad?"

"He's at the gym. Wednesday's his gym day."

"So he just left you, and your brother home alone?" Laharl asked, pulling the orange juice out of the fridge.

"Yeah," Shas sighed. She was messing with a little hand sewn doll. It was kind of cool looking, with stitches for eyes. He wondered briefly if her mother had made that for her. Maybe her father. Most likely Kira. They may have been twins, but the difference in maturity was astounding.

Laharl took a swig out of the jug, and her nose scrunched up. "Kira won't like if you do that."

"Kira doesn't have to know."

"I guess."

"Tell your dad I'm going to school when he gets home, alright?"

"Won't you be late?"

"I already am, but that can't really be helped. Your mom wanted me to check in before I went to school."

"Okay," Shas said softly.

He frowned. She was usually the most lively little thing in the world. It was odd to see her down. Kind of distressing actually, despite the fact that she tended to be downright horrific when she was happy.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I don't want to be alone."

"Where's Kira?"

"I don't know. He's mad at me."

"I gotta go to school."

"Why? You're already late. You should stay here, and play with me! I'll be good, I promise."

"Let me call your mom," he said.

He'd just turned to dial the number when Kira showed up. Honestly, they looked too similar to tell apart which was weird because he didn't think fraternal twins were actually like that anywhere other than the Rugrats, but he wasn't going to push it. He also didn't see Shas leave, or him come in, but he supposed that was alright. No pushing after all. They were kind of like super ninja kids anyway. Mao would have gotten such a kick out of them.

"You're not seriously indulging her childish bullshit are you?" he asked as Laharl was punching in the second group of numbers for Yasurl's office.

"Um, maybe?" he tried. Kira sneered at him.

"Why do you always have to be such a melding piece of shit?"

"Dude, you're like nine. You should stop cussing me out."

"Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I'm not better than you," Kira hissed.

Laharl nodded, and hung the phone back in the cradle. "Okay then. I'm gonna go to school now. Tell Shas I said bye I guess."

"Whatever, fag," Kira spat after him as he turned around.

Laharl never wanted to be alone in a room with Kira ever again.

* * *

Etna picked him up from school after another day of willfully ignoring the shit written on his locker, and the assholes who whispered behind him in the hallways or in class. Flonne came with, buckled up in the middle of the back seat with her hair flying out the back of the convertible top like someone had spun wheat into fabric without it loosing its color.

"I've been looking into the legality of the situation, and I can file for legal guardianship of you which would essentially award me custody as you're old enough to choose who you wanna live with," Etna said. "I've printed out all the forms, and I've got them all ready to fill out, and take to a judge."

"That's awesome, but I'm gonna have to have you wait to properly file them. I don't wanna tip my aunt off that I've got something in the works."

"That mean you've got a plan, big man?" she asked.

"Something like that," he said softly. Her laugh split through the sound of the wild buffeting their faces.

"I've got something I wanna show you suckers!"

"Is it a UFO?" Flonne asked emphatically from the back seat. Why that was her first assumption, Laharl would never know.

"You'll see!"

* * *

And they did see. Etna stopped the car in an empty parking lot, and turned half way around in her seat.

"You have to promise not to flip out okay?"

"Sure," Laharl said.

"Good. Now turn, and open the door."

He did, stepping out onto the tarmac with more than a bit of hesitation.

"I got a motorcycle!" Etna cried, pulling a berry blue bike out from behind a large bush. Flonne was instantly all a flutter over the thing. There was a plaque with "S.S. Etna" hanging from the keys, and he had to stifle a bit of a giggle because that was legitimate proof that she knew about that. The bike itself seemed to be painted up to look like some weird penguin.

"What is it?"

"It's my Prinny!"

"You mean like those things Mao's always drawing?" Laharl asked.

"Yeah!" She exclaimed, throwing a leg over the white leather seat. "Isn't it cool? He designed the paint job for me when I was telling Almaz I wanted a bike."

Laharl blinked blankly at her.

"Who wants to go first?" she asked.

* * *

Flonne went first of course, leaving Laharl to sit in the car for a while, and listen to music. It was pretty entertaining to watch them zoom around the parking lot until Etna got ideas, and ducked out onto the street. He was half way to panic for about two minutes before they had the decency to come back.

Flonne was laughing when she took off her helmet, and all of her hair poofed around her head. That was probably the thing he hated most about her. Her hair was always perfect. Even if it got messed up, it popped right back into place.

"Your turn!" Etna said. He shook his head, but she wasn't taking no for an answer. "What? Is it your first time?"

He felt his eyes roll in their sockets. Etna always had to be like that. "I'm just full of firsts for you, aren't I?" Flonne was looking between them curiously now as Laharl felt his cheeks start to grow hot. "Well last time you had your first with me it was fun wasn't it?"

It was. His mind recalled it as such. Unfortunately, so did other parts of him.

"Get on the bike, Laharl," Flonne said, slamming the helmet on over his head. He felt it squish his hair down. Etna helped her guide him so that he was sitting, and Flonne forcibly wrapped his hands around Etna' waist.

"For the record," he managed to say before Etna tore out of the parking lot. The rest of the sentence meant to state his discomfort was lost in the sound of the wind, and the engine. The rumbling beneath him made him feel uncomfortable, and a bit numb. He closed his eyes tight, and tried not to think about people being paste on black top.

He'd seen his mother's body in the morgue. He knew what it looked like when people hit the road head first. His hands were tight on Etna's waist, and she was laughing hard. He could feel it. He could feel everything. He almost imagined he could feel the indents, and imperfections in the road he was so hyper aware.

It was like getting stoned, and knowing far too much about the state of his eyeballs.

He didn't notice when the engine cut out. He was too busy holding on, and closing his eyes. His body was all rigid when he was brought to his senses by her prying his fingers off.

"You're alive, prince, don't worry," she said happily. He really could have punched her in the face, but she was smiling, and Flonne was laughing, and he was feeling things deep down in his chest. Weird things he couldn't place, and didn't really want to face in the grand scheme of it all.

These were the moments he almost hoped his aunt would win their little war, because he wasn't sure he wanted to live to name the chemicals his mind was pumping into his body.

They were both beautiful though. They were really pretty, and he liked them being happy so much that he had to remind himself to be mad.

* * *

"The will is going to be read on March twentieth," Etna said when they were stopped at the curb outside of Flonne's house, watching her greet her parents at the harth. The light air was gone now. Etna's face seemed slack, and empty. It was strange, seeing her like that when he knew how alive she could be.

She had seemed to love his father though, and after loosing his mother he had to be willing to understand what it felt like to loose someone like that. All suddenly, and without reason. Even worse was the fact that she was being forced to deal with cops crawling all over her. In her house, in her car. They were still trying to pull the phone records.

"Can we postpone it until April fourteenth?" he asked.

She heaved a heavy sigh at him. "I guess. He was your dad after all."

"That's not it. I just want to have all my ducks in a row before my Aunt tries to hit them with a car."

She nodded, but her mood didn't lift any. It reminded him how weird things were. How they were constantly trying to forget about how their lives were just slipping down the toilet. It was easier with people like Flonne around who were completely outside of it.

Her hand came slowly over the center console to wrap around his fingers, and hold tight.

"I'm sorry, Laharl."

"It's okay."

"No it isn't," she said. "I lost my boyfriend, and I'm a total mess, but in the last three months you've lost both your parents, and were forced to move in with some crazy bitch who's trying to kill you for money, and you're still cool. You're holding it together. You're not crying yourself to sleep every night. Fuck, you're not crying at all."

He stared himself hard in the eyes through the window in the passenger's side door. "Maybe I'm not, but that's just because I don't have the time."

Her hand squeezed his knuckles together uncomfortably. He just squeezed back.

* * *

That night, when Yasurl came down on him because she was bored, and he was a punching bag that flinched when she hit it, he tried to think about Flonne. He tried to think about how Flonne looked, and smelled. Her face. Then he tried to think about Etna. How Etna smiled, and knew exactly what to do, and exactly when to do it.

It didn't help. It just further tainted the experiences. It just robbed him of a little more.

She left him in the dark of his room telling him he was a good boy, and he promised not to try that ever again. In his mind their faces were melding with hers, and their hands were shaping into claws. He felt sick the way he felt her hands still on his body. The thought that it was a feeling that would never stop cropping up made him want to turn all the misplaced hurt, and anger he'd ever felt on himself so that it would just stop.

* * *

Shas woke him up the next morning, sitting on the bed astride him with her tiny hands planted on his chest to keep him down.

"Why do you, and mommy play so late at night?" she asked curiously.

He frowned at the clock. It was six in the morning. He didn't need to be up for a half hour. He could have been left alone to be terrified in his dreams rather than terrified while awake.

"We weren't playing," he said, trying to push the tiny person off of him. Shas didn't budge.

"Liar. You were too! I could hear you in my room. Mommy was saying all this stuff. We're you playing house? I can't tell if you were the daddy, or the baby."

Laharl pushed harder, and tried to wriggle away from her, but she still refused to move, or allow him to move. He was starting to feel claustrophobic, like he couldn't breathe right with her on his chest pressing the heels of her palms deeper and deeper into his ribcage.

"But then I guess sometimes mommy wants daddy to be a good boy too."

He rolled over onto his side, and hid his face in the pillow so he wouldn't have to look at her. The idea that she had heard anything Yasurl had said. The fact that she knew as much as she did. He tried taking deep breaths, but Shas was still going.

"Did you do something bad in the game? I thought I heard her spanking you. Did it hurt? Can I play too?"

"No," he said, voice muffled by the pillow. "No. I don't like that game. That game isn't fun."

"But you play it with Mommy," Shas protested.

He shook his head. "I don't like playing it, she makes me."

"Well then I'll make you too. How do you play? Are you the daddy, or the baby?"

"I'm not either!" he yelled into the mattress. "I don't like that game! I'm not the daddy or the baby, and I don't want to be either ever!"

"Why don't you wanna play with me?" Shas asked.

He couldn't answer. He didn't know what to do, or say, but the urge to bury himself further into his pillow took precedence, and he slowly drew it up around his face.

"It's because he thinks he's too good for you, Shas," Laharl heard Kira say. It sounded like the boy was sitting right next to Shas, but he couldn't feel him on the bed.

"No he doesn't."

"Yes he does. Just leave him alone so he can wallow in the taste of his own worthlessness."

Shas made a disheartened sound, but got up anyway, and walked out the door. He heard it click shut behind him, and tried not to hyperventilate into the sack of feathers he was desperately clutching against his face. He needed to start locking the door at night, and hoping that Shas didn't know how to pick it.

He didn't want to talk to he about "playing house" ever again.

* * *

He realized he didn't feel anything when the clock told him it was six thirty. He'd been staring at it since Shas had left. About five minutes after, he supposed. When everything had stopped being horribly terrifying, and he'd finally had the capability to roll over.

He didn't feel anything. There was just this massive gaping hole where the feeling of fear had been. Somewhere deep in his mind, the same little voice that wanted to scream about everything, and make everyone know, and see their horribly uncomfortable faces as they finally understood what his life currently was longed for that feeling again.

He didn't get out of bed. 6:45 rolled around, and he was still sitting there, staring at the clock nonchalantly. Like nothing mattered. Deep down inside, he felt like nothing did. That's when he realized, with what he assumed should have been a sense of growing dread but was instead a resigned acceptance, that this was that horrible nasty, bad, awful thing he had been trying to avoid the past three, and a half weeks of living in Yasurl's home.

His body felt heavy, and he was bored by the thought of existence. A spark of a thought in his mind mentioned something along the lines of how nice it would be to just not exist anymore. He could let Yasurl win. He could give that to her, and let her have all the money, and the company.

That same little voice, the one that had longed to be heard, and wanted to feel, screamed. Maybe it was the voice he hated most often, but as he pushed himself out of bed half an hour late, he realized it had probably just saved his life. Spite was the only reason he was living, and fuck if he was going to give up on that any time soon.


	12. To A Rebellious Nation

A/N: To E, who does not seem to have an account, I am gonna put it out there that I enjoy every review/follow/favorite I get. It lets me know that people are interested. Thank you so much for all the lovely things you've said. And to everyone, sorry for the huge delay on this chapter.

Warnings for mentions of abuse, and abusive situations. Also for using characters that had little to no personality previously in ways that would not be commonly agreed with. Apologies.

* * *

March dawned with all the speed, and pain of childbirth. His mother was being laid to rest finally. The phone call came early Friday morning when the calendar on the kitchen wall said it was the first. She had been cremated, and it was time for him to collect her as next of kin.

Yasurl was the last person he wanted to be there with, but she interrupted half way through his call to Etna.

"You don't need to bother her, sweetheart," she said too sweetly, a hand on his shoulder. He was going to be sick. He was going to be sick. He was going to be- she took the cellphone from his hands, and delicately told Etna that she "had it covered" before hanging up. She didn't wait for a response. She just hung up, and left it there.

He got into the car silently. He didn't want to open his mouth, and find her eyes on him. He didn't want to be going to the fucking morgue to pick up his mother's ashes with the woman who was trying so hard to break him.

The car ride was filled with the sound of her prattling on, and on. Topics like his father's will. How he seemed to like "that blonde from school." It all seemed so normal. It all would have been so normal, but they were driving to a morgue, and she was using him to try, and get more money. She planned to hit him with a car.

His knuckles were white on the armrest built into the sedan's door by the time they got there. There would be paper work, he thought, staring straight ahead out the windshield as Yasurl came around to his side.

The door opened absent his will, leaving him bound to the seat only by it's belt. He didn't want to get out of the car. Instead, he stared vacantly at her face, as if staying where he was, and denying the situation would bring his mother back to life.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?" she hissed under her breath. He wished it had been Etna. He wished the car was the little red one. Etna called it Gungnir, and loved it to bits, and that's where he wished he was sitting right then.

"Get out of the car," she spat.

Slowly, his hands came together at his side, and undid the buckle on his seat belt letting it slide over his shoulder. He still couldn't bring himself to step out of the car though. This was too final. This was too much. Her hand seized up around his bicep, and wrenched him out.

"Now look here, you little punk, I won't have you jerking me around." Her words were whispered harshly into his ear. Her claws were digging into his skin through the sleeve of his jacket, pinching, and scratching the leather.

"Laharl!"

He almost didn't want to believe Etna was there, but when he turned, she was, sitting on the hood of the little red car with a milk shake in short shorts, and sun glasses. Like it was already summer though it was probably only sixty degrees out. Flonne was sitting next to her. They looked like someone had torn them right out of the outsiders done up in matching fifties retro.

He blinked a few times, trying to understand why.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come shopping with us!"

Yasurl's hand tightened more firmly on his arm. "Don't you already have an engagement, Laharl?"

"Yeah," he said low under his breath, offering Etna a sly smile. "But they can come with if they want."

* * *

Yasurl decided to leave early so he could "have his time". He was grateful for that as he stood outside on the curb clutching his mother's urn.

"So why are you here instead of at work- or you know school- dressed like this is Grease?"

"Because you better shape up," Etna said lazily. She popped a piece of gum she'd been chewing on for the past half hour as he signed documents to prove who he was, and handed his birth certificate, and high school ID to the gaunt man behind the desk.

"It's Friday," he said. The lack of inflection in his voice made her smile widen devilishly. He didn't trust that.

It was Flonne that finally answered. "Etna had me sleep over at her house, and I got a make over."

"And the reason you're not being a "productive member of society"?" he asked. He would have used air quotes if her hadn't been holding his mother's ashes.

Etna laughed.

"We figured you should take the day off, and not have to worry about everything."

"And?"

"And so we ditched our responsibilities too. Wouldn't want you walking around alone or whatever." Laharl scoffed at her, and she responded with a flurring of half formed facial expressions, and hand motions that finally landed on Flonne's shoulders. "Don't be such a sour puss. I even brought your girlfriend."

There was this weird moment of shock that hit him so hard it felt like someone had smacked him between the eyes with the fly swatter of force. He blinked, and adjusted his mother's urn in his arms so that it was pressed more firmly against his chest.

He had slept with both these girls. He might even have feelings for both of these girls. He knew he liked how they looked, and sometimes he wanted to get away from them because the idea of being /happy/ was just so off putting. Why would Etna claim Flonne was his girlfriend? Was she joking around? Did she know? Was she actively trying to put distance between them, and what had happened one night when he was drunk, and she was pissed at his dad? Was he over thinking things?

Yes. Definitely over thinking things. He hugged his mother closer to his chest, and called a casual "shotgun" over his shoulder as he started for the car. He didn't look at either of them as he slid into the seat, and placed the little metal jar on his lap to drum his fingers against. He didn't look, yet he knew that Etna was giving Flonne a devilish look, and Flonne was standing by confused.

It had been a just about four months, and it was strange to think that he knew these girls just as well as he knew Beryl, and Mao. Two people he'd known for a little over a year. He realized with a bit of a start that he hadn't known anyone he still talked to longer than that. Not counting non-nuclear family of course.

Etna turned on her music before they started driving. Vega Boys. He liked them only a little better than Gay Pimp. Flonne seemed to love it.

* * *

He realized as he was sitting outside of a boutique that most of the reason Etna probably kept Flonne around was Flonne's ease with finding something in someone else to idolize. Etna was the kind of person to want that kind of stuff after all.

She'd intentionally dragged his attention on many occasions when he'd just moved in probably because she just enjoyed the admiration. He guessed all people were like that a little bit. It's why Mao kept Almaz around for at least the first couple weeks before actual attachment had the chance to form.

People liked attention, he supposed as he traced his finger along the metal in his lap. Etna was modeling a pretty necklace. Some hand made thing she was clearly thinking of buying. Flonne seemed to be enraptured with it all. Like she always was.

He shifted impatiently. There was the bite of chill in the air, and on the metal in his hand, and half of him wanted to go inside to join them. He didn't though. Instead he stayed where he was, staring at them through the window as they did what they liked doing.

* * *

"So what do you wanna do now?" Etna asked when they were seated in the car again.

"I don't know," Laharl said, staring at the canvas roof. There was a moment of silence that followed broken only by Flonne making a content noise in the back seat.

"We could go over to Mao's," she suggested. Etna smiled, turning on the car.

"You know what, blondie? That is not such a bad idea."

"Though I don't understand how I ended up hanging out with so many fifteen-year-olds," was muttered under her breath. Laharl snickered at that.

* * *

Mao's house was so normal that Laharl felt out of place. The door wasn't ever locked, so he didn't bother knocking, and it was still rather early, so Mao's dad would be passed out drunk in his room, or on the bathroom floor if they were unlucky.

Beryl was leaning over the ottoman as Mao swore at the television. One of the Final Fantasies, it looked like. Mao didn't bother looking over at them.

"You're late, you fuck," was all he said, controlling a bunny girl in very unrealistic armor.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Laharl asked. Etna snorted behind him as Mao started, and paused the game to look over.

"I don't fucking know. The wizard of OZ?" There was a moment of silence, and a look of confusion as Mao's eyes scanned down the the urn in Laharl's hands. "What the crap nugget is that?"

"That's my mom," Laharl said with a shrug. He grabbed the controller as he slouched into the seat beside Mao. An action that resulted in more swearing, and threats of spilling mom on the carpet, and vacuuming her up, or drinking her like she was Ovaltine.

Etna was kind enough to remind them that this was not South Park.

"You don't even like Final Fantasy," Mao said as Flonne, and Etna both found places to sit. Beryl glared when Flonne sat right in front of her boy friend, and started asking questions about his game progress. They were probably evenly matched in Nerd points, Laharl decided.

It took him a while to realize he was kind of leaning up against Etna. Only a bit longer to realize he didn't mind. She was warm, and stable, and that was surprisingly comforting. Though it probably shouldn't have been comforting because of everything, and how weird it all was.

Flonne wanted to see action figures, and Beryl was pissed about her apparent proximity to claimed property. It all seemed so normal. So typical teenage comedy. Next thing he'd know there would be a keg, and everyone would be climbing through the window with music, and all the things that parties needed, and he'd sit in the corner all Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Reality didn't work like that though. Something he remembered when Mao's dad dragged himself out of the hallway.

"What's all this?" he asked, words still slurred. Mao put his head down instantly. It was something that Laharl had seen in occasion, but the suddenness of it never ceased to catch him off guard. Mao was typically the most rebellious, loudmouthed asshole, with a streak of pride in him so wide it put the Nile to shame, but when his father was around he became a totally different person.

"Nothing," he said softly to the controller in his hands. "They were just leaving."

"So they're not here to play faggot video games?"

Mao twitched. "No."

"Tell them not to be so loud. Some people are trying to sleep. It's like four in the morning."

"It's nowhere near four in the morning," Flonne said innocently. The man lurched further upright, eyes seeming to come alive with something angry, and horrific that had Laharl up, on his feet.

"This the piece of shit that's sucking your cock now?"

Mao grit his teeth together, hands tight on the plastic in his hands. "No," he said again.

"Then tell her man that she needs to be put in her place."

Laharl went to take a step forward. He'd beaten a champion at underground tourneys, he could take on a drunken giant. Mao's hand stopped him, catching him by the wrist.

"Sit down, or get out of my house," Mao growled. Floored by the tone in the other boy's voice, Laharl took a seat. His mother sat between them in her little metal urn, and he felt sick because everything was shitty. Even the places he called safe havens were covered in fear, and blood. Mao's fingers were shaking slightly on his wrist, but Laharl wasn't sure if it was anger, or fright that had them so uncertain. The only thing that he knew for sure was that it was something very far from the usual awkward grace with which Mao tended to handle himself.

"Uppity little fuck that one," his father said, turning, and shuffling back down the hallway.

Beryl was staring at Mao's face, eclipsed by the hair hanging into it. Slowly, she got up off the ottoman she had been sitting on, and lead them to the front door with little words of apology. Like they really were a couple. That was new. As Laharl remembered it from a few months back they had been only just on the right side of hating each other, half treading the fine line between 'frenemies', and all out war.

The door closed behind them, and she leaned on it quietly, biting her lip. "He's gonna need some time," she said in a soft tone that Laharl never would have associated with her before.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You've seen him like that sometimes. You know, when he just goes all quiet. One time he didn't get up for two days straight. I found him just lying in bed staring at the wall."

Laharl nodded, and cast a glance over his shoulder. If he believed in gods, or a god, or a higher power with any surety, he would have thanked it, or them for Etna. Etna knew when things weren't her business, and she had enough sense to remove Flonne from ear shot.

"Yeah," he said. Beryl gave him a little half smile. He was wondering when he'd gone from being baffled by the idea of that sort of despondence, to understanding it intimately. "I'm assuming you've got this then?"

"Every man needs a little back bone," she said with a sort of mock exuberance, showing off a tiny bicep. "That's why they have fuck buddies."

"Sounds like marriage to me."

If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

* * *

"That was fun," Etna said when they were sitting on the couch back at his dad's place. It looked weird. She'd taken all the pictures down off the walls, and in their places hung slight discolorations in the paint.

"Yeah," he responded. "That happens sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah."

He stared at the ceiling for a moment. "You didn't seem all that surprised," he said when he felt the silence start to press into his ears.

"My mom had a lot of bad boyfriends."

He made a humming sound in the back of his throat. Flonne was puttering around in the kitchen trying to make some "food". He was half way terrified of whatever she would produce.

"Speaking of boyfriends," he said. She gave him a curious look that he caught out of the corner of his eye. "Why am I hers all of the sudden?"

"We had a girl date, you know? I don't know how I ended up hanging out with so many kids. Makes me feel like a weirdo really, but it's kind of fun I guess. She came over, and we did each other's hair, and makeup, and stuff. We talked about boys."

"Boys?"

"You mostly."

Laharl frowned hard. He didn't like the sound of that.

"She told me that the two of you had done the do, you know?" He felt his cheeks start to heat up, and fumbled around the surface of the urn in his lap to cover non-existent ears. He could almost hear the ghost of his mother laughing at him. "For a self proclaimed sexually defunct adolescent male, you sure do get around a lot."

He frowned at the top of the little metal pot. "I'm just trying to forget it all, you know?"

She was giving him this oddly intense look, and he could feel it hitting the side of his face. "Yeah, I guess." There was another moment of silence, he listened to Flonne humming in the kitchen. It sounded nice, and homey. He hated it. She was doing that thing again where she reminded him of his mom. "Is that all it is?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

"I want to- I wanna be closer- to people," he said, and then blinked at himself because that sounded stupidly profound, and he didn't know where on earth it had come from. "But I can't."

Etna had this look on her face he couldn't quite grasp when he turned to her. They made eye contact that lasted for an awkward silence. Then she leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. He felt his throat spasm, and contract before he was able to gather his bearings enough to actually wig out.

"What the fuck?"

She smiled that in that annoyingly devious way. "I got you, prince."

"I made a cake!" Flonne interjected before he could make a proper come back to that. "It's in the oven, and I'm going to frost it. Who wants a piece?"

Etna raised her hand, woefully ignorant of what she had just signed up for. As revenge for the weirdness, he didn't bother warning her.

Flonne came over, and sat on his other side, effectively boxing him in between the two of them.

"I started watching a new anime last night," she began. He looked at Etna who was just smiling at him. Not in the same way. It was something softer than before. "It's called Attack on Titan."

"How is it?"

Flonne's face lit up. "Oh, it's wonderful! I was hoping to talk to Mao about it but-" she paused, and stared at Laharl's lap. "Do you think he'll be alright?"

"Yeah," Laharl said calmly, and for once he actually kind of believed himself. "He's got Beryl."

Etna's smile got wider. So did Flonne's.


End file.
